


Turn the Lights Out

by chocgirl



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Banter, F/F, Humor, Love/Hate, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocgirl/pseuds/chocgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: When the new neighbour, Alex Vause, moves in a few doors from Piper Chapman; the idealistic waitress who has lived a blissfully single life, sparks begin to fly and egos start to clash. It's a hate-love relationship that turns fiery right from the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mixed signals

.

.

.

Did I even have the right key?

I've been struggling to jam my supposed key into the lock of my apartment front door for the last half hour. No matter what angle I was twisting it into - it just wouldn't go in. I briefly contemplate just sagging against the front door and spending my night right here on the floor.

It serves me right for not being able to say no when Tom the bartender - at the behest of my overzealous friend, Polly Harper - had kept insisting I should have one more margarita. Each drink offered had seemed like a better and better idea. There had been a sliver of sober brain at the time that had made a flimsy attempt in reminding me this was how axe murderers always made their first move: get the silly lonesome woman lamenting her first world problems, well and truly drunk before luring her back into their lairs.

But I hadn't cared.

I've just worked close to a fifty hour week and and I - more than anyone, deserved to forget about life's issues for just one night, even if that included neglecting important things like stranger danger. Plus Tom had nice blue eyes, and surely serial killers didn't have smouldering eyes that looked they wanted to bed me or told lame jokes that had me laughing way way too loudly at them.

Anyway, so I now found myself locked out of my front door and inadvertently reenacting the life of a homeless person. Just to give you a flavour of how well my night had gone; I couldn't even remember the journey home let alone stand up straight, that's how close to catatonic I was at the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck."

It was maybe three-ish in the morning and my thirty year old body was reminding me just so. Every joint possible was aching and it felt as though someone had hurled me into a well of treacle and left me there to fester. And don't mention the humongous bruise over my upper arm already beginning to show its face - I silently curse Polly - she had an annoying predilection of delivering over-enthusiastic fist thumps whenever she overstepped her limit of three drinks.

It hadn't even been more than a few hours since I got here, and already felt as though I was beginning my slow descent into a fully blown hangover. I probably looked like death warmed over, even worse when I had to be up at eight the next morning - which implied that I should be asleep in the first place, something which wasn't going to be happening any time soon as I pitifully stared at my house-key.

My phone starts ringing. I stupidly realise I could have just rang Polly and asked her nicely whether I could crash at hers for the night. It was infinitely better than resting my head against the grimy wooden hallway floor of the apartment complex I lived in. God knew what kind of bodily fluids had dried up here. I fish my phone out of my handbag and was about to answer when the display suddenly dies, together with my Florence & The Machine's Take Care ringtone.

I hiss out my fourth fuck of the night.

The battery had gone and apparently so had my patience and general giving a fuck about things. I pull myself upright, which is no mean feat in itself. I precariously sway for a second or so before making a beeline for the stair bannister, thankfully correcting my centre of gravity and grab onto my dress which for some reason kept sliding down at the front despite it being a halter neck. I didn't have that much cleavage to start off with but through the course of the night it had transformed itself into the most low-lying dress ever. I had complained to Polly about this who had just insisted there was a definite correlation between degree of lowlying-ness and the probability of getting laid.

That hadn't happened.

And if there was any truth in that - my dress would have to be around my knees before anyone considered making that theory come true.

I make a brief plan of scaling back downstairs and hailing a cab to Polly's. If I went now, I would at least get a few hours of restful sleep.

I'm halfway across the hallway when my foot catches against something. One minute I'm walking in a semi-straight line, the next I have taken flight and veer forwards, hurtling through the air before landing in a sorry heap a few metres away. I'm too busy swearing all kinds of profanity to even realise my right arm is throbbing like an absolute bitch and have apparently also lost one heel in the midst of my spectacular fall. I glance back and spot the culprit; a pile of trash stacked so high, it really could have been given its own zip code.

Lo and behold it just had to be the trash belonging to number forty-three. It just had to be hers.

Alex Vause.

I momentarily forget about my lost heel or even the searing pain that was currently traversing through the entirety of my arm and instead focus all of my drunken anger at her door. Trust her to leave this fucking rubbish outside her door, like she owned the place and couldn't even be bothered to walk the few extra metres toward the trash chute. It took a certain measured arrogance to be so blasé and unbothered.

All I knew about her - Alex Vause - was that she had recently moved into the complex and had a penchant for revving her stupid, annoying motorbike at at even more stupid o'clock, had the local pizza express on speed dial and was so inclined to piss me off at every given opportunity that we saw each other, it was of no surprise the rapid decline of my night, somehow had to involve her.

It didn't help we were practically neighbours, made even worse was we left the apartment around the same time each morning which meant I had to endure many elevator rides with her. I think I may have imagined it but those elevator rides took at least twice as long to reach the ground and felt about three times more confined every time we caught one together. It's her snarky comments that always set my teeth on edge - which wasn't doing a whole load of good for my jaw muscles. At this rate I needed to start taking pre-emptive Tylenols whenever I knew I was going to bump into Alex.

I think my great dislike for her stemmed from that one time she rather loudly pointed out the piece of salad stuck between my teeth. I mean, I know according to unwritten social rules I'm supposed to thank her, but she lost that privilege when she declared this in front of Ben, the guy who I've already married in my imagination, and lived a few doors down from us.

Thankfully, she worked for some fancy-ass advertising company which must have its perks because she was forever travelling to and fro the airport but meant for me I hardly got to see her.

I now stared hard at the door, debating.

I was in the process of sliding a passive-aggressive note under her door, when it suddenly swings open.

"It's a bit early for postal deliveries, don't you think?"

We both simultaneously glance at the scrap paper scribbled with my awful shorthand made worse by my drunken state.

I'm still recovering from shocked surprise when Alex locks eyes with me. "A personalised letter?" She smirks just as she picks it up. "How sweet. You know I was just speaking to my mom the other day and we were talking about how it's about time old-fashioned letter writing should make its comeback."

"You shouldn't leave your trash out there in the open." I blurted out shamelessly. We both don't seem to address that this is the first conversation we've had over the last few months that consisted of more than three words.

"You woke up especially to write me a note, telling me this? You couldn't wait until the morning?"

I don't answer but instead resign myself to watching her briefly skimread my now realised, ill-thought out method of retribution. She continued heedlessly, "And here I thought you wrote me a love poem. How disappointing."

Alex's eyes narrowed dangerously, piercing me through and through with their gaze. I realise I have never been this close in proximity to her, and it strikes me she's actually not bad looking, maybe even easy on the eye. But that's besides the point, because right now I needed to stand my ground and act all indignant. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? I could have been seriously injured…this is a public hazard! You can't just leave this stuff lying around!"

In her typical I don't give a fuck fashion she responds with something that just serves to wound me up, "Death by leftover pizza and empty beer cans. What a way to go though, don't you think?"

She cuts me off just as I start flinging an angry retort. "But that's a very thoughtful letter and I'll be sure to take more careful notice of my trash disposal habits next time."

"Good!' God I sounded like a fucking petulant child, add to that, her unfailing smirk was doing its usual job of heating up my temper. She roves me up and down, and it feels like she's disrobing me layer by layer with her eyes. I wasn't wearing anything that substantial to start off with and it suddenly reminds me of my low cut top. Ergh, I felt so exposed. "Rough night?" She cuts through my thoughts.

My hair must look like someone had swung me full into a tumble dryer and had forgotten to switch it off and my face felt like it was melting into an unrecognisable mess of congealed make up and sweat. Rough didn't do my current appearance the slightest bit of justice.

"That's none of your business."

"Well it looks like at least one of us has had a good night."

"What?"

She crosses her arms across her chest, the movement causing me to focus on the artistic flower tattooed across her triceps, the petals swaying under her flexing muscles. I was so transfixed on this, I nearly miss the haughty grin she throws me. Ergh. I want to vomit and blush in dual measures.

"I mean…I just watched the season finale of House of Cards and it turns out Frank Underwood is exactly the conniving asshole I thought he was all along."

I have no idea what's she talking about but I figured it was better than her usual repertoire of humiliating me so I didn't really mind.

"That's too bad."

"Thanks for understanding."

"Hang on." I shake my head. "Why are you even awake at this time?"

"Six cups of coffee with a splash of whiskey in each, and about a dozen episode cliffhangers."

"I suppose having to get up early tomorrow doesn't motivate you to sleep?"

Alex's lips quivered into a smile, "And what would you know about my daily work routine, huh?" She suddenly leans toward me, making a show of looking past my shoulders and inspecting the hallway behind me. "Unless you're spying on me and tonight happens to be the night I caught you in the midst of your little reconnaissance?"

"Maybe it's you that's spying on me."

None of what I just said made any sense. I really needed to work on my comebacks.

Alex seems to agree because she throws her head back and laughs, she tilts forwards again, and I briefly catch her scent; a mix of coffee and cigarettes. Maybe it's because I'm completely drunk or maybe it's the fact that Alex was wearing a way way too tight tank top that I'm pretty sure I have never seen before, and I'm also highly certain she's braless, but my eyes keep finding themselves looking a little too southwards one too many times.

"I'm spying on you? Because nothing screams creepy when someone leaves strange letters in the dead of the night and then accuses said personof spying."

I collect the remnants of dignity scattered around me and adopt my most offended voice. "I'm not creepy." (Like I said - I was in dire need of practicing my comebacks)

"I'm trying to decide whether I should be worried or flattered to have my own personal stalker."

"I'm not a stalker and I'm definitely not some weird creep!" And off I went, climbing aboard the Piper-temper train, next stop: you'll wish you'd never messed with me. "I fell over your fucking trash - that you always leave for weeks and weeks - and I thought, before some other poor person suffers the same, I'd ask you kindly to move it! Be it verbally or in the fucking written form!"

Alex arches her eyebrows, patiently waiting for me to finish my less than uncouth outburst. She had that effect on me. Always unhinging me with her unbothered responses. I've scarcely drawn in a breath before she steps back and fully opens the door. "When you're done...I'm about to start season three, I've got a bottle of whiskey I need to finish and it looks like you might need some. What do you say?"

Incredulous, I furrow my brows, "Let's say in a hypothetical scenario I said yes. What makes you think I'm going to step into your apartment, forego any sleep and watch a show I've never heard of in the middle of the night... least of all with you?"

"I'll have to take that as a no then."

We stand there - just staring at each other. Well it was me that was dumbly staring, Alex was mostly just laughing at my expense. What at, I'm not entirely sure. Like I said - she likes to fuck around with me, and I'm stupid enough to grab the bait every time; hook, line and sinker. You'd have thought after such fruitful experiences I would have learned my lesson by now.

"Well I could stand here all night but I've got a cliffhanger to see through and a few glasses of whiskey to down."

Alex's already beginning to close the door when I suddenly blurt out, "I'm locked out of my apartment."

I don't exactly know what possessed me to reveal that predicament but I pretend to not hone in on the fact that somewhere beneath all those disparaging remarks, I actually think she's nice. And I hastily quash down the last traces of disappointment I felt when I realised I may not see her again for what would probably be at least a couple of weeks.

"Well that's unfortunate."

My face is burning but I force my eyes to maintain eye contact. Thankfully she saves me any further embarrassment when she strides past me. "Do you have your keys?" Her hands are already outstretched, waiting. I place them in her palms before adding, "They're not working though. I don't know why and believe me I've tried about a thousand times."

She inspects the keys, and without any preamble, selects one and pushes it into my door. To my utmost surprise it swings open with ease.

"How?!" I retort dumbly.

"It helps a great deal when you don't use your car-keys to open the door As far as I know Ford haven't yet manufactured keys for apartment doors."

She probably thinks I'm hardly a cut above a female version of Mr Bean, and these kind of things were not helping my cause in any shape or form.

"Give me that!"

Alex just chuckles and damn her to hell and beyond for making it sound like some seductive throaty laugh. I suspect she's doing it on purpose, like she always does.

"Well aren't you going to invite me in as a token of thanks?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

She goes in anyway.

.

.

.

"Quite a cosy thing you've got going on here." Alex comments when she steps into my lounge.

"You do know you're trespassing?" I shout after her in vain.

I know, I know. I sound ungrateful, but I feel like I may succumb to my drunken tendency of becoming touchy-feely - especially when Alex is wearing not only a ridiculously tight tank-top but also those grey college sweatpants that are super comfortable to wear and are supposed to be everything but enticing-looking, but damn her - it did the exact opposite. Alex looked like she'd stepped straight out of an indie-alternative cover, whereas I looked like a homeless cat left to forage in the cold rain. Life was just unfair.

I could see a saltshaker tattoo peeking between her top straps, making me wonder whether she had anymore tattoos hidden from away from sight.

(As you can see, I ask myself all of life's very important questions.)

"You like the view?"

My eyes guilty shoot up from their fix on her ass and it feels as though my heart just fast-forwarded itself several beats. A rising blush sweeps across my face and I'm already stammering for an explanation. Luckily, she's pointing at my windows. Relieved, I realised she's referring to the view of the city; all high rises and flashing lights. "Uh yeah."

"What did you think I meant?" Alex asks cockily, a salacious grin tugging at her cheeks.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I've got more that are not for public consumption. I'll show you them to you if you show me yours." She proceeds to throw me a wink just as I suddenly wished for my apartment floor to collapse from underneath me and deliver me to the next level down.

Alex does this a lot. Well we do this a lot. Ever since she moved in a few doors down from me, we've been participating in a strange, yet mutual accepted dance of flirtation and general dislike for each other. It was a double edged sword that to my utter denial was somehow quite deliciously dangerous. But was I going to admit to that much less show her? No fucking way. She had enough of an upper hand as it was already.

Alex picks off a book from my shelf and saunters to the kitchen island, pulling a chair out and straddling it. "The Perfect Anarchist." She reads the book title out loud as she eyes me through the top of her glasses, raising her eyebrow in a gesture full of amusement. I watch her flick to a random page, listening to her read from a passage, "A consistent anarchist must oppose all means of authority. An authoritarian system has been proven to be detrimental to creative thinking and to the pursuit of knowledge."

I'm not going to deny I was secretly enjoying the effect her gravelly, dulcet tones were having on me, her reading voice had a certain pleasing timbre to it, so much so, I was actually dismayed when she suddenly stopped.

"Is this the kind of of stuff you read?"

Somehow Alex made always made everything I said or did or even had, sound like an insult so I find myself actually trying to contest the book was even mine. "It's my friend's actually…she likes to dabble in the political genre every now and again."

"And she also happens to be called Piper Chapman?" Alex points to my name written in the inside cover before gracing me with one of her know-it-all laughs. "Because that seems like an awfully slim coincidence to me."

I lunge forward and snatch the book out of her hands, too drunk to figure out a reasonable explanation and too embarrassed to expand on my obvious flimsy lie.

"Are you trying to subliminally tell me you're a reckless girl who loves to break the rules?" She punctuates this with a wily grin. "Because wouldn't you have it - I like women with those exact qualities."

I blink. I blink again. And blink a third time for good measure.

It's nearly four in the morning and I'm flirting with my hatefully annoying next door neighbour who has trash disposal issues, and I can't figure out whether I like her or not.

It's a dichotomy, I've learned to live with.

...

Through the course of the night I'm swaying toward probably liking Alex; she did have a mean sense of humour, that's if I pretended I wasn't the butt of her many jokes. Add to that, I'm not going to lie she was surprisingly good at the whole charm thing. So much so, I actually didn't even mind it when at some point during the night she turned the flirt dial to maximum, the number of innocuous touches increased by about a thousand fold, and the distance from my mouth to her mouth shrank to about a couple of inches.

"So is this what you normally do?"

We're sat at the kitchen island, the dim lighting bathing our faces in a warm orange hue. Alex looks good. More than good.

I shake my head and force myself to return to reality.

"Hmmm?"

"You know gatecrash people's houses and make fun of their tastes in literature?"

"Oh yes. It's what I do most nights." She flicks her gaze at me, chuckling softly, "How's it been so far?"

"Eye-opening."

"That's better than I thought. I'm glad to have widened your horizons."

"You know, that's probably the first nicest thing I've ever heard you say."

Alex takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes, "If you must know, I don't normally offer my assistance to women locked out of their doors, so that was me being non-verbally nice."

"And what makes me the special lady you reserved all that niceness for?"

"Ah...don't get ahead of yourself. I just wanted to see what the inside of your apartment looked like. It was all part of my big elaborate plan, trash pile included."

"Very funny."

"And it's every bit as I imagined it to be."

"You spend your time imagining what my apartment looks like?"

"Oh yes." She says unperturbed at this revelation. "I thought to myself is her apartment a reflection of who she is? Uptight and self-righteous. And dare I say it - it actually is."

I roll my eyes, "Wow, just when I thought you were actually capable of being nice."

"Well I can be when it suits me." She drops her voice to barely a whisper, "You know the other kind of nice."

I swear I needed a seatbelt whenever I'm around Alex. One minute we're flirting then we're calling each other out, and then back to flirting - I feel like I'm in a car taking about a thousand different turns at breakneck speed.

"The other kind of nice?"

As you can see - I've decided to play along. I'm drunk, remember?

"Oh yes." She tilts her head forward, her hand reaching out to me.

Suddenly I'm having some very colourful visions of mouths crashing and hands exploring and that's when I realise I need to get the fuck back. This is how bad and stupid and thoughtless things happened. And I'm none of those things.

"Not happening." I blurt out.

"What?"

"This."

"This? You've lost me there."

"Whatever you were planning on doing, Alex."

Alex looks at me in confusion, making me think that I may have spectacularly misread all those cues, confirmed when she asks, "I can't even pour myself a drink? That's what I was doing by the way, reaching for a glass and a drink." She tilts her head, and I watch her slowly figure out my mistake. "Piper, what did you think I was doing?"

Everything

I squirm in my seat, "Nothing."

She just chuckles.

We sit in silence for a while when Alex just stares at me, narrowing her eyes - as though I've completely lost it. "So about that drink?"

I realise I'm supposed to play hostess, and go on to pour us both a drink. I mean she did save me a night of sleeping rough on the floor - it's the very least I can do.


	2. the morning after the night before

(Perspective is Piper's)

.

.

.

My eyes flicker open. It feels as though someone was holding the world's most powerful floodlight right against my face, burning my retinas with it. My head protests against this powerful weapon of light, making it throb with the intensity of an industrial power-drill. I roll over and groan in what must be the most self pitying sound ever. I mutely gather this is how it must feel like when brains are ripped out and are replaced with a block of cement reinforced with shards of glass for good measure. It genuinely couldn't get any worse than this. Unbeknownst to me though, there was always scope for things to turn from shit to even more shit. My life in a nutshell.

Finally, after a languid struggle in rejoining the ranks of humanity - I manage to squint my eyes open, allowing me to fully survey my surroundings.

I'm in my bed.

Still wearing last nights clothes and way too worse for wear. I mutter to myself, having my usual mantra of this is going to be the last ever time I let myself become so utterly bladdered. It was all fun and games until the morning. My hangovers liked to always remind me of my stupidity from the night before, and so every morning I was made to suffer through the equivalent of being run over by a tank several times.

I roll over, nearly knocking off the glass of water and packet of aspirins resting on the night table. Frowning in confusion I sit up. I didn't put that glass there nor do I leave accompanying pieces of paper addressed to myself. Reading the note; I would also never write in neat block letters:

I figured you'd need the aspirin in the morning. Also I left your keys in the kitchen.

Alex.

"FUCK!"

My hangover was banished in a matter of seconds. "Shit. Fuck. Shit."

The events of last night rush in with the force of a tsunami and I feel like I'm drowning in waves of possibility. The first and foremost thought that springs to mind is did I sleep with her? I rack my brains, grabbing my head with both hands, trying to grasp onto any memory of whatever the fuck happened after I poured our drinks, but all that was given to me was a black hole of amnesia. I jump out of bed and begin pacing the room, trying to find any clues that would point toward last night's happenings.

Duvet covers are hastily upturned. Pillows are snatched up. Mattresses are flung off. I momentarily halt my throes of madness and even inspect my neck for any telltale signs of hickies. Nothing.

My throat feels like sandpaper and my stomach feels as though a million bees are simultaneously needling it. I feel like wailing.

I'm not that kind of girl.

No really.

I'm a nice Park Slope woman who works as a server at a high end restaurant, pays her taxes on times, and blushes at the sight of people publicly making out. I don't do casual trysts, not the least with people I'm barely on talking terms with. But here I am, crawling on all fours, on the verge of meeting last night's food again, and searching for stray panties under my bed, like some kind of piteous sex detective. I've yet to reach my lows into decadence - but that soon comes when I lift my dress and see that to my thorough relief I'm still wearing my own panties. I cringe and curse myself in equal measures.

My relief is short-lived when I happen to glance at the clock.

Holy shit, I'm late for work.

My one night stand investigations would have to wait.

"How nice of you to grace us with your presence, Chapman."

I swallow a lump of something resembling fear when I feel the light whisper of Red's voice drifting into my ear.

Red otherwise known as 'Boss' was the owner of Haven. The third largest restaurant in New York in terms of revenue and customer numbers. She had built it up from when it had been just a small bistro, into one of the most respectable eateries in the region. Red the matriarch of Eastern New York held strong principles regarding her flourishing business, where people flocked from afar to experience the legendary triad of the chicken in duck in turkey recipe.

All of that commendable success had been achieved by running her ship with an iron fist. Red never raised her voice at her employees nor did she explicitly tell you that you've done wrong. Instead she just soundlessly came up behind you and whispered her disapprovals in slow menacing hisses. It was enough to make anyone regret the error of their ways. I'd figured it must be some unnerving interview technique she had learned during her formative years as a KGB agent. At least that's what I theorised.

I've been working at Haven for the last three years, having gone through the ranks of starting as a lowly waitress to being in charge of my own small group of workers. Red had even hinted she may offer me a partnership in the near future should my performance continue to improve.

However, I may have to put that aspiring dream on hold and deal with the earful I was no doubt about to receive.

"Jesus you stink like a brewery and look like you've spent the night in one too."

I was drunk and stupid and spent the night with my neighbour from hell. I swallow those words down and push out the more appropriate ones, "I'm so sorry, Boss. I must have lost track of all time."

"You're over an hour late…why did you even bother showing up at all?"

"I'm sorry." I knew better than to argue. To be honest, I had no leverage of any sort so best to take it all on the chin and hold a tight lip. Speaking of lips... Fuck no. Get back in! You fucking random and out of context memory of Alex and her lips that were doing more than just moving and talking.

"Don't think that because you're suffering from a hangover, that I'm going to cut you any slack. You're going to work as hard as the rest of us…maybe even harder."

I cringe inwardly. "Red, I'm sorry. This won't happen again." I stammer weakly, my whiny voice, annoying, even to my own ears.

She ignores me and instead barks, "Birthday group of seven at table ten." She flicks her chin in their general direction, "The mother is allergic to gluten and the son has a lactose intolerance." She walks off, before turning around, "Oh, and they want their cake with its thirty-six candles lit right after their main meals."

The triple whammy table: a large group, specific dietary preferences and a big fucking birthday. It couldn't get any more shit than that. It was every waiter's nightmare table rolled into one. Even worse than that table with the snobby couple who returned everything on the basis the food was either too cold or too spicy or too anything. But, I daren't protest - I was already treading on thin ground. I wouldn't be overly surprised if Red had picked a bunch of people off the street and paid them to be as difficult as possible all to teach me a good lesson.

Serves me right for drinking on a weeknight and trying to kid myself I still had the same liquor tolerance I did when I was twenty - which hadn't been all that spectacular to begin with. I've always been cursed with being a lightweight.

All I wanted to do right now was cry. "No problem, Boss. I'll be right onto it."

"I'm watching you, Chapman." She grumbled just as she turned her heel and whizzed off.

I quickly steal a glance at my assigned table and had to actually hold in a physical groan. They reminded me of my own dysfunctional family. I can practically smell the nouveau-riche vibes reeking from them; the dad in a Ralph Lauren shirt already looking disgruntled because they hadn't yet been served between that millisecond of them arriving and sitting down while the mother was busy rolling her eyes at the menu. And don't even get me started on the kids. That's the problem with this place - it attracted my kind of people: WASPy and rich and entitled. Fuck my hangover headache just took a steep turn for the worse.

...

I've been running around like a headless chicken for the past few hours. Why the fuck was it so busy at ten in the morning? I swear it was the universe trying to tell me something. At around twelve I finally find some short-lived reprieve and take the opportunity to down another few aspirins. I'm sipping a cup of coffee when someone roughly slaps their hand against my back.

"You look fucking shit, Chapman."

Half of my coffee was now on the ground together with any politeness I had left. The rest of it had been spent on the family from hell at table ten.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nicky." I huff, not in the mood to engage in any small talk.

Great I'm on shift with Nicky Nichols, a girl who doesn't mince her words and always spoke with the subtlety of a bull raging through a china shop. I busy myself with pinning my orders on the wall, ticking off the tables as the food was brought out one by one on the trays.

"Late night?"

"Something like that." I'm purposefully laconic, hoping she'll take the hint and leave me alone.

"And?"

"And what?" I give a jaded sigh just as I set aside a pile of dirty dishes.

"Did you score then?"

"Score what?"

Nicky raises her eyebrows like I'm totally dense, and just keeps nodding her head willing me to catch on. I know exactly what she's talking about but I'm in no mood to discuss my dubious sexual relations with anyone, least of all with Nicky. She was world's worst holders of secrets, more leaky than a sieve. I might as well declare my dirty laundry through a public tannoy, it would lead to similar results.

I wipe my hands off on my apron and turn around. "The only 'scoring' I know about are goals in soccer or aces in a tennis game or getting As in my then college assignments, otherwise I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nicky just huffed, "Don't be so fucking obtuse, Chapman. I just want to congratulate you on letting go of that Piper uptightness and finally enjoying one of life's greatest pleasures. So? Am I right or am I right?"

In all honesty, I couldn't even answer the question even if I could. A renewed wave of despair hits me when I'm reminded of Alex and the enigma that was last night. Nicky mistakes my silence for an admission and exclaims in pure delight, "Really? Fucking ace man!" She squeezes my shoulder in a show of commendation, "And here I was worried you're some asexual flower that would never reach its full bloom. Fuck, I'm so relieved for you." She pats me on the back just as I shudder in disgust at the analogy. My love for flora died right there.

"Leave her alone, Nicks." Just then Taystee sidles up to me and slings her arms over my shoulders. Great, I had a fucking audience now. Did I mention my work colleagues were very tactile and hadn't yet heard of such a thing as respecting personal boundaries?

"Chapman here, she ain't some sex-crazed messiah like you, aight?" She turns to me, "You one of the rare kinds, getting all married and shit, living with yo cute ass husband and reading all educational books to him."

"Excuse me?" I extricate myself from her embrace.

Did I come across as that fucking boring that they envisaged this life for me? Reading books to my future husband because he was blind and couldn't read for himself or because he was super old. Or was he both?

"Yo Pipes, is it true you finally got yourself some action?" Poussey shouts from the back of the kitchen.

I come to the very slow conclusion that my fellow workers had been waiting with bated breaths for me to get finally get laid. Something I must say, is quite disturbing.

"Hey P! Chapman ain't even like that." Taystee retorts on my behalf.

I don't know whether to be offended by the fact I came across as someone who leads a pious and mostly celibate life or be disgusted by such casual references to my patchy sex life.

I decide to be both.

"Can everyone stop talking about my sex life like I'm not even here! What is wrong with you people?"

"Hey don't be like that, man." Nicky says unperturbed. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" I laugh humorlessly, "How about you help me by not reducing my whole existence on my sexual encounters? How about that?" This line of conversation needed to end right now.

"Chill out, Pipes."

"You started all this, Nichols." I point around, "Look at what you've caused."

"I was doing what any decent person would do." She shrugs her shoulders, "Which is to congratulate when one of my girls has been there and done that."

I'm not even going give her the decency to respond to that. "Also don't you have some onions to tend to?"

"Very subtle change in topic."

"No, really." I point at the neighbouring saucepan emitting a somewhat worrisome blackish smoke from its contents." Unless your table specifically requested the charcoal onion edition?"

"Fuck! Shit!"

Every cloud…

….

The metal doors suddenly swing open and in steps Red. My stomach drops when we all notice the fuming expression distorting her usual stern look together with the narrowing of eyes. For reference, that usually meant we were about to be annihilated.

"Are you people done with your gossiping tea party?" She roams her fearful gaze over all of us. "When you think you're all done can you all kindly carry on with the jobs I'm paying you all to do?"

Nobody answers. Red's questions are generally rhetorical and you'd be stupid enough if you tried to answer them. She carries on, "There are at least seven orders coming through at this very minute. Table five has already returned her steak because it wasn't well done and the couple at nine have just told me they've been waiting for more than half hour for their meal to arrive. My cows in my old Moscow farm can do a better job than all you people combined."

We stand in line like scolded schoolgirls, none of us daring to speak.

"If I hear one more complaint from our guests I will personally see to you all being punished severely."

She murmurs something in a flurry of Russian which I'm pretty sure wasn't anything of praise.

I think it was the heavily Russian intonation but I'm suddenly reminded of my History classes on the Soviet Union, particularly the bit about those dreadful gulags. Because right now it felt like I was in one and I daren't ask what exactly this 'severe punishment' entailed.

Red hadn't always been so harsh and dictatorial. But this last year or so was like she'd been strung to near impossible lengths. Haven was doing well. But not nearly as good as our nearest competitors. We've all overheard the talks of possible expansion or maybe even opening up another chain but when there was always a few empty tables even at the height of rush hour such plans had to be put on hold. There's only so many customers word of mouth can reach and that's where our problem lay.

"Well get those feet moving!"

We didn't have to be told twice. We all spring into action but just as the others scurry away, she stops me. " Piper Chapman, you're the best we've got here so don't let me down… you of all people."

"Yes, Boss." She knows how to tap into my guilty conscience. "You can count on me."

No sooner had I said that and she had already disappeared.

By noon the place was absolutely teeming; orders were flying in by the dozen, patrons were reeling off their choices. It was that busy I kept bumping into the others running with trays and carrying hastily scribbled orders. The astronomical sound levels which I could normally drown out were doing no favours for my migraine-esque headache, and actually by about two in the afternoon I genuinely had to sit down to catch myself a breather before having to serve the next table.

My headache reminded me of aspirins which somehow reminded me of Alex. I shut my eyes and berate myself once again for my acts of great stupidity. Obviously my amnesia didn't extend to erasing all traces of that kitchen situation; my fixation on her lips, hanging onto her every word like some desperate lovestruck teen. For the record I was neither a teen nor lovestruck. I scoffed before stomping to the next table, still angry with myself.

I approach my designated table and reel off my automatic spiel, "Welcome to Haven. How I may I take your or-"

I'm cut off by a horrifically familiar voice. "You know you don't look half bad in that tight waistcoat number you're wearing. That colour really brings out your eyes."

I look up in horror, nearly dropping my notepad.

My lonesome patron sat at table number three, sporting what I have now come to realise is the most infuriating smile known to man, was none other than my maybe-or-maybe-not one night stand, Alex Vause.

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	3. A is for Asshole

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My lonesome patron sat at table number three, sporting what I have now come to realise was the most infuriating smile known to man, is none other than my maybe-or-maybe-not one night stand, Alex Vause.

It takes a second or two to let all that sink in, even though she's right in front of me, larger than life. Then I feel myself losing the ability to speak and it's any wonder I'm still standing upright, because my legs seemed to have adopted a life of their own, shaking and stiffening up at the same time. In an act of desperation I feign complete and utter ignorance which is probably the most idiotic thing I could do given the circumstances. It wasn't like I could avoid her forever. She's my neighbour and a big fucking question mark: one time lover.

"What? Not even a hi?"

"Have you made your order yet?" I yelp, clutching onto my notepad for dear life. God help me. This was hell now and here, Alex was the one wielding the pitchfork. Okay, slight exaggeration, but I am functioning in sheer survival mode here. So cut me some slack.

"Yes, I'd like to order a large plate of acknowledgement with a side dish of manners."

"Manners?" I blurt out stupidly. "You have the nerve to lecture me on manners when you near enough forced your way into my home and repeatedly ignored my pleads for you to leave."

"That's funny. Because I seem to remember an alternative version where you begged me for my assistance, made me drinks voluntarily and…" She waggles her eyebrows and smirks, "Well the rest is history."

Thank the lord for Red's insistence over barely lighting up the place in order to create an intimate ambience because I can feel my whole face literally burning up, my genetically inclined cheeks no doubt lit up like two red traffic lights. I quickly glance around me before lowering my voice, "What happened last night?"

Alex leans forward, casually leaning her elbows on the table and gazing at me with the sort of expression people used when they'd spent the night together. I find myself taking an involuntary step backwards, worried she was going to trap me with her sultry eyes and lure me in.

"You honestly don't remember?"

"I remember you coming over and we were talking…"

"And after that?"

"You laughed at my taste literature, questioned my ability to play poker and we drank some more."

"And then?"

"We talked a while."

"Is that all you really remember?"

After the kitchen conversation I always drew a blank. I shake my head not able to keep eye contact and instead suddenly take an intense interest on the painting hanging on the wall behind Alex.

My brain was working overdrive right now and I had to distract away from the many possible scenarios I've constructed in my head.

I peer at the painting, it was either from the Renaissance era or it was Pre-Raphaelite, I wasn't sure.

Alex tilts her head and follows my gaze before turning back to me, smiling. "It's Neo-Impressionist. See the use of colour and the direction of paint strokes, how organised and refined they are? Definitely a piece by Georges Seurat."

I must look like a fish removed from its place of refuge because her cocky expression segues into one of concern, "Are you okay?"

"Uh yeah. I'm fine."

"I didn't know talking about art could you make you feel so ill, my bad. I'll try and avoid that topic next time I come round yours."

"Fuck you." I hiss semi-loudly. A poor choice of words I realise belatedly but solider on regardless. "Whatever happened last night was a huge mistake so don't think anything of the sort is ever going to happen again."

With all the practiced patience in the world Alex simply says, "Didn't seem like a mistake to me..in fact I would go as far as to say you were fucking loving it."

My stomach lurches uncomfortably. So it had happened. We did the thing. My worst fear confirmed and made worse by the fact I couldn't remember a single thing - not even my muscle memory was offering up anything.

"I shouldn't have…shit" I whisper to myself, before turning to her, eyes blazing. "You could have stopped me."

"Are you actually kidding me?"

"I was drunk." I offer pathetically. "I was drunk and you should have stopped me. Whatever I was doing.'

"We're adults, Pipe."

Fuck. She's graduated to calling me Pipe? That means we really must have done it.

"I can't believe this…" I slowly back away. "You took advantage of me." I couldn't believe I was piling all the blame on Alex even with my less than stellar record of playing victim, I knew that it does take two to tango. Fuck it. I wasn't here to assuage my recent decline in morals and if anything, I felt like I deserved at least some bit of sympathy.

"Are you being serious? After I personally tended to your drunken ass and helped you? This is the bullshit you come out with?"

I pause my cries of self-pity. "What do you mean by that?"

What the fuck happened that night?

Alex looks at me like I've sprouted an additional head and it's all I can do not to visibly cringe. She'd obviously meant it as a figure of speech but right now I was an emotional paranoid wreck on the brink of having my trademarked Piper Chapman breakdown.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Why did she do that? Play with my feelings like that? it was so difficult to hate Alex when her voice dropped to that gentle cadence, and her face softened around the edges like that, somehow making her appear more pleasing to the eye.

I hold onto my notepad with renewed determination and straighten out.

She probably does that with all her other unsuspecting victims; a lull of the brow, a subtle curl of the lips and she had them, right there in the centre of her web. I painfully realise I'd been reduced to just another meaningless sexscapade. And that upsets me. Greatly.

"Are you actually going to order anything?" I ask frustratedly, my feet itching to get me out of this senseless situation.

I would even let myself suffer through any of Red's semi-racist anti-American stuff stuff she spouted whenever Nicky or I complained over the ridiculous workload we were regularly subjected to. Apparently I was a lazy valley girl too used to having everything done at my beck and call. Red was partially correct; I was actually an upper east side girl…the rest was pretty reflective.

I return to reality, "Anything at all?"

I can't bear to continue looking at Alex. What with her piercing green eyes, her perfect red lips, and the way her hair framed her face like that. It was downright offensive.

"Yes, I'll have the gnocchi with a glass of white, thanks."

"Is that all?"

"Yeah."

Some civility at last, relieved, I begin tucking my notepad away when Alex adds, "Just one more thing, I didn't sleep with you." She says it so matter of fact I've already taken a few steps before the sentence catches up with me and makes me stop dead in my tracks. I swear my heart must have paused to allow me to properly hear this damning verdict. "What?"

"We didn't have sex." She shrugs as though this was just another everyday conversation. "I mean we talked a lot and laughed and joked…but that was all that happened. I guided you to your bed and tucked you in and left. That's it."

Was that a flicker of longing creeping into her voice? And hold the fucking carriage and all its horses - she tucked me in? I couldn't for the life of me imagine the Alex Vause lowering herself to such basic acts of humanity. I revised the low regard I had for her to something slightly above tolerable.

"And for the record." Alex continued. "I don't take advantage of people when they're intoxicated. And trust me you were way beyond that. So whatever you think of me…I do still have certain moral standards."

Okay so she wasn't a complete asshole. But that meant I was the fucking asshole.

To be quite honest, I should have known better. Deep down I highly suspected any sex with her would not be something I would forget in a hurry, drunk or otherwise.

I'm not sure what level of formality I should pitch my response at so I settle for quite formal. I'm pretty sure I watched a Dr Phil episode where he advised on maintaining formality in order to distance yourself emotionally. "Thank you for clarifying the details of that evening…would you also like to order dessert?"

Alex just scoffs, "Really, that's your grand response?"

Definitely not a dessert name that was on our menu. I reel on, worried that if I stopped talking, we would venture into conversations I didn't want to have, and that would mean she would eventually make me say yes to things I wanted, but also didn't want.

That was just plain ridiculous; I'm an adult in charge of my own destiny, with my own rational mind to make my own sound decisions.

So I continued guilelessly, 'We have ice-cream, cheesecake, chocolate gateau, creme brûlée, apple-"

"Piper, you can stop there now."

"Apple pie, key-lime pie, peach pie, sweet potato pie, organic pear-"

Apparently she had an intense dislike for pie because Alex suddenly grabs me by the arm and pulls me down to her sitting position. Her face so close to mine, I calculated that if I puckered my lips they'd touch hers.

That was the exact moment, everyone, I had come to the obvious conclusion, that I was well and truly royally fucked.

Here I was bent at the waist, trapped in nothing more than her deep green gaze, while I obediently awaited whatever she wanted to let me know in her usual hedonistic fashion.

Who was I kidding with my bullshit about free will? This was Alex Vause we're talking about.

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"We both know what could have happened."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I should really stop using ignorance as an emotional defence. Blame my largely repressed and frankly dysfunctional childhood for that.

"I know you want me." Alex declares in a low voice that I felt more than heard.

"No I don't."

I do? Maybe?

No.

My heart does its usual free fall through my body when Alex pulls me even closer, any closer I'd end up on her lap. Which come to think of it, may not be such a bad thing. She continues in that I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself voice, "I know for sure I want you. I'll do the whole date thing if that's what you want. Hell I'll even buy you pink flowers and heart-shaped chocolates, but one thing's for sure, I can't keep my eyes off you."

I gulp.

Maybe I could rescind my previous statement of not wanting her. After all nothing in life is ever set in stone. Alex obviously sees my hesitation and continues, ramping up the persuasive factor. "I don't normally do this you know."

To my absolute misery, I spot Taystee squinting her eyes at me, followed by Poussey furrowing her brows. To be honest, I could only imagine how things must look from their angle: me practically sat on Alex's lap while she tried to convince me to give in to something I already wanted. It was unorthodox to say the least. News spread like wildfire here so I did what I had to.

"Like fucking what?" I jerk back, maybe a little too dramatically to feign authenticity. But Poussey and Taystee were still staring. Where the fuck is Red when you actually needed her? "Make people think they've slept with you? Come to their place of work on an entirely non-coincidental basis and ask them out while they take your orders? How fucking reassuring you don't make a habit of this."

"You know that's an awful lot of fucks for someone who doesn't want to be f-"

"DON'T even go there."

She sighs like I'm the one who's inappropriate and simply leans back.

She honestly was a force to be reckoned with.

Alex throws me one of her shameless smiles "If you really have to know. My usual plan of action is harassing my neighbours by placing obnoxiously large amounts of trash outside the door in the hope that they trip over them which is when I myself into their homes. It's a tried and tested technique."

I deliberately purse my lips into a passive-aggressive and a not-even-impressed scowl.

"What? Not even a smile?"

"Do you want a medal or something?" I snap.

Alex made a mock-hurt face. "Oof, didn't realise the crowd was so tough."

Suddenly her arrogant smirk coupled with that insufferable twinkle in her eyes made me lose my fuse (again) "You think you're something else, don't you? Funny thing is you're the one who's gone out of their way to reserving a table, just so you could gloat about our near-miss." I point my finger at her. "I'm not some notch on the bedpost for you."

There was a delicious moment her face waged blank with confusion. I suddenly wished I had those instant-photo cameras to snap this elusive expression and flash it in her face whenever she got too big for her boots.

"If I wanted to see you again, I can just knock on your door. I just happen to like the gnocchi here. Nothing to do with you."

"Really?"

"Really." She pushes her glasses back into her hair. "Now that we've established this, what do you say to my earlier proposition?"

Either Alex was exceedingly stupid or I grossly underestimated the exceptional levels of cockiness she actually possessed. If I had to hedge my bets it would be the latter.

"Wow." Is all I can genuinely manage.

"No gimmicks. No fakery. No snark. So?"

Alex's eyes grew serious and she seemed to hover over the question waiting, but me on the other hand, take great satisfaction in the delivery of my line here. "No... thanks."

If I was expecting a massive reaction from Alex, it wouldn't have come anyway because she simply raises her eyebrows as though this was only round one and she would have plenty more opportunities to try again.

She'd probably succeed.

I didn't have that much faith in my resolve to keep on saying no.

So really it was a matter of a when than an if.

I was strangely okay with that.

I step back, hurriedly write down the last of her order, and retreat back into the safety of the kitchen. At least here there was a big giant metal door dividing me from Alex's roguish smile.

Who did she think I was? At what point on God's green earth have I ever appeared as easy?

She was damn persuasive though. I had almost failed.

If I'm completely honest, there had been instances where I saw myself saying yes. Maybe just to dabble my toes in the waters so to speak but not actually fully jump in. Just a little test run.

But something tells me with Alex it's either you get yourself fully wet or you don't bother at all. There's no real go between.

(I promise that wasn't some weird euphemism.)

(A Freudian slip, maybe)

I leant against the metal basin waiting for my table number to be announced.

"That was the longest order you were taking there."

It had to be Nicky spotting that little domestic. The girl's powers of observation were being wasted in the food industry, and were much more suited to police work.

"It's a complex one. You know the ones with the dietary requirements and specific preparations." I say in a clipped voice.

I was in a foul mood that consisted of self-pity and bated anger at myself and I could easily extend my anger to the next person who thought of sticking their snout in. Sharing is caring, right?

"Gnocchi and white wine." She asks laughing just as she snatches my hastily scribbled order from the pin board. "Unless she ordered her food by giving it as a Chinese riddle? Or maybe a haiku in Hindi? I'm really good at haiku solving, you should have called me. I could have saved you the half hour of you taking orders."

"Just leave it okay?" I near enough rip the order from her hand, my misery increasing by the thousandfold, which had obviously nothing to do with me rejecting Alex's offer and everything to do with Nicky's annoying presence.

"Woah Chapman. Easy. I don't suppose I should ask?"

"Sorry Nichols, I operate on a don't ask and don't tell policy."

No sooner had I spoken, Nicky blurts out, "Hot biker chick at three o'clock. Do you know her?"

I sigh wearily. There's no real point denying anything. I mean not when Alex keeps throwing me impromptu winks from across the room. Talk about goddamn subtlety. A word not present in Alex's dictionary. Politeness and keep the fuck out of other's people's business were the few words missing from Nicky's.

"Yeah I know her." I couldn't have sounded any more miserable even if I tried.

I could practically see the lightbulb moment in Nicky's eyes and is it of any surprise that my sole wish at the present time was to be buried?

I'm already bracing myself for the avalanche of questions about to erupt when I notice the door opening and closing in quick succession. I have never been so glad to see our gulag master, sorry, Red saunter into the kitchen. Well, saunter is the wrong word, more like appear out of thin air. She was doing her usual thing of narrowing her eyes into two slits of disapproval, and surveying the scene with slow, roaming stares. Luckily, Nicky valued her job prospects too much and immediately clamped her mouth shut and busied herself with placing her plates onto the waiting service trays.

"Table three and six!" Poussey shouts, just as she slams the food onto the plates with her usual enthusiastic vigour.

Marginally relieved, I pick up my orders, and walk through the double doors. It feels as though I'm re-entering an arena full of baying crowds. Even worse than that...back to Alex and her perpetual smirk. I can't quite figure out if this was the lesser of two evils but she's already smiling at me when she spots me reluctantly approaching.

I'm trying my utmost hardest in avoiding eye contact as I place the dishes in front of her which was no mean feat. My hands were shaking more than the alcoholic who needed his first morning drink, and I've now got the added anxiety-inducing pressure of making sure I don't spill anything on her.

White tops and spilt liquids don't bode well together. Things become awfully see through when that happened. Worse if the white-top wearing person wore a black bra underneath. (I noticed these things)

gulp

Thankfully, Alex makes no mention of our earlier tete a tete and instead gives me a sated thank you.

If it's supposed to put me at ease, it does the exact opposite. I'm suddenly made to feel like I'm in the eye of a storm, calm and quiet on the inside, wild and dangerous if you stepped outside of it.

"Enjoy your meal." I mutter haphazardly.

"Thanks. I will." And she fucking winks at me.

Before I have a chance to change the response to my earlier answer, I scurry off to the next table. I swear I could feel her eyes burn two holes through my ill-fitted shirt and waistcoat, but I daren't look back.

The remainder of my shift goes without hitchups and I find myself slowly relaxing and actually enjoying the customer interactions. I even managed to make Red laugh with an offhand remark I made. Red and laughter was as incompatible as fire and snow so when I later told the girls of my extraordinary accomplishment, they just laughed in my face; all incredulous jeers and shakes of the head. Poussey went on to do an uncanny imitation of Red, complete with slivers of carrot as a poor representation of her hair and surprisingly good Russian accent. "I am laughing. This is how I laugh: kha...kha...kha."

We're all howling with laughter when SoSo from the customer service desk sticks her head in. "Any louder guys, and the state of Massachusetts will also have to suffer through the world's worst impression."

She's met with a series of boo's and loud scoffs but as usual is unperturbed by our reactions and just flicks her nose at us. "Whatever, at least when she starts laying you all off, I'll have the great satisfaction of a giant I-told-you-so."

"Oh light up, Soso." Nicky snorts. "Try and remove that stick out of your ass once in awhile and start living a little."

I'm guffawing so hard I barely hear SoSo's magnificent comeback, "Thanks Nicky. I guess it's time for me to take it out and stick it in your mouth instead. That way it'll stop the stream of excrement from leaving."

"Excrement?" Nicky scoffs in complete exaggeration. "The last time I heard that word was when I watching a 1940s porn show."

I'm not even going to waste my breath in asking what kind of porn show featured shit in its spiel, unless she's referring to the infamous 2 girls 1 cup video. ( disclaimer: I would never lower myself to such gross standards, thank you very much)

"The lady from customer service just burned you, Nicks!" Taystee exclaims. "Damn you musta gotten some second degree burns and shit."

"No uh, make that third degree burns, Tay. I can hear the sizzling from here." Poussey adds.

"Thanks for all the support guys." Nicky retorts, her face not looking entirely pleased just as she directs at SoSo, "Haven't you got any complaints to be dealing with? This is our turf so unless you know how to toss a pizza or balance six plates on top of each other, you're not wanted here."

"You know what?" Brooke declares emphatically. "Benjamin Tryden once said 'the kindest word in all the world is the unkind word, unsaid.' So I'm afraid I'm going to have to discontinue our conversation now and we should both respectfully return to our positions of work."

I'm in awe she managed to say all of that garbage with an actual straight face.

There was a perfectly legitimate reason, Red did not place Brooke in a position where she was in direct contact with customers. A minute of listening to her was enough to cause even the most stoic and tolerant of people to run away with their ears bleeding. Sometimes, I thought the girl must have swallowed a radio that had been stuck on the non-stop talking channel.

I'm still waiting for the batteries to die.

The shift has finally come to an end.

We're all gathered in the back office for our daily evening debrief.

My body is aching and I feel so mentally drained I couldn't really utter another word.

I drown out Red's voice and start having dreamy thoughts of my bed and my soft pillow and how great it would for my head to be resting against it right now.

Someone shakes my shoulder hard, and I'm harshly thrown out of my idle slumber. "Chapman, listen!" Nicky whispers in my ear, nodding toward Red who fixes me with her scrupulous stare.

"I said who served the customer at table number three?"

My body freezes.

That was Alex's table.

Fuck

Fuck

Fuck

I'm steeling myself for the torrent of verbal blows I'm probably about to receive. I'm determined not to flinch.

What the fuck had Alex said? My dreaded anticipation is quickly replaced with righteous anger, my hackles raised to the maximum levels. I knew she was an asshole but to actually try and sabotage my job? Just because I said NO. I mean I wasn't exactly the perfect waitress but I didn't fucking deserve this. I'm already thinking of confronting Alex, smashing down her stupid apartment door. I don't care how crazy I went as long as she got the message that she couldn't just fuck around me.

"Who served three? Because they sure as hell haven't served themselves."

I swallow back a ball of bile. I'm already fast approaching the end of Red's tether. Any more complaints and I can start bidding my goodbyes to everyone.

"It's Chapman's." Taystee shouts just as her face falls into one of regret. Ugh, Taystee's mouth was more unsecure than Facebook's privacy settings.

I shoot her dagger eyes, even though it would literally take all of one second for Red to find out who had my assigned table. Everyone is already sporting premature looks of sympathy which doesn't exactly help abate my increasingly racing heart. Any faster and I might have to ask it to join the horse races, such was the intense galloping right now.

Red smiles.

What? Red doesn't smile. Her laughing muscles had been non-existent since birth.

"Well well well. You must have done something right...because whoever you served has just left you a $250 tip."

"WHAT?" I exclaim, hardly audible above the sharp intakes of breathing sounding around me.

Of all the things I was expecting - this was not it.

"Boss, are you sure?" Poussey asks, her face filled with awe.

Taystee sidles forward, "You sure you don't mean two dollar and fifty cents? Easy mistake to make."

"Are you saying I'm blind, Tasha?" That soon shuts her up.

Nicky whispers in my ear. "You must have given her the five star treatment."

Red curls her lips into an actual smile. Teeth and all. "I've been thinking that my proposed partnership with you was a grave mistake, but you seemed to have redeemed yourself, Chapman. Consider yourself saved."

I'm still processing the last few minutes, still in disbelief, but I manage to nod my head vigorously and murmur my thanks. "Thanks Red."

"Oh and they left you this."

She pushes a piece of paper into my hand with that familiar block handwriting. But this time a cellphone number was scribbled in - together with:

Call me when you've changed your mind.

A

A matter of when rather than if.

Good god.

I feel my actual shit-eating grin beginning to hurt my cheeks. Vaguely aware that I'm at dire danger of my face splitting open.

Nonchalantly I stuff the piece of paper down my bra, as though this was just a regular occurrence and pointedly ignoring everyone's open-mouthed expressions.

Would you have it. Alex Vause my most challenging patron to date had just broken our Haven tip record, indirectly persuaded Red that I was actually useful, who may even promote me after all, and most importantly, had just given me a second chance to say yes.

Not bad for someone who I thought was a grade A asshole.

A hot asshole, may I add.

What can I say...I'm shallow.

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	4. Chapter 4

AN: An NSFW disclaimer. Children, BE GONE.

(Perspective is Piper's)

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Ugh. Whoever said Google was the all-knowing and all-seeing eye was blatantly lying through their teeth.

Three hours of google-stalking 'Alex Vause' had rendered me absolutely nothing.

Omnipotent my ass.

Also more importantly; what kind of sociopath doesn't have Facebook?

I'd been on page five of the google search results when my troubles were temporarily rewarded. But it turned out to be an article about some guy called Alex Vause who lived in Scandinavia, who'd won the annual bratwurst eating contest. Definitely not something Alex would ever waste her time on.

(I know I know, no self-respecting Gen Y person ever goes beyond page one of google search results)

(I'll admit I went as far as page nine before I was forced to abandon my internet stalking

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"Piper Elizabeth Chapman. Either you've suffered a stroke or you've literally been smiling the whole time we've been sat here."

Meet Polly: my friend. My confidante. My long time partner in crime. My shoulder to cry on.

"Are you even listening to me? What in the fuck is wrong with you?"

My pain in the ass on many an occasion - today being one of them.

"I am listening! Jesus Christ!" I scold back.

"Really? She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Go on, enlighten me then."

"Are you serious?" I huff out indignantly. 'Obviously you're talking about how Ryan at work has been giving you the evil eye and you think he doesn't like you but Dawn said he actually does like you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? That was like half hour ago ago! And it's Ralph for the record, god."

I blink guiltily. "Sorry."

It was any wonder I could hear anything over the singsong medley that kept playing around my head for the last few days:

Alex wants me Alex wants me Alex wants me

"Okay what on earth has happened in the last week to make you look like you've simultaneously won the lottery and discovered the cure to world hunger?

"Nothing." I offer weakly.

"Nothing? Well whatever it is - I want a piece of that nothing."

That was an unfortunate choice of words and I had to bite my lips to stop myself from bursting out into a fit of giggles.

Polly just narrows her eyes, glaring at me like I'm some sort of deranged crazy person.

"Who are you? And what have you done to my friend?"

"Don't be so dramatic." I sit forward. Already half-regretting saying yes to our coffee date. "What's new in your life?" I attempt to steer the conversation away from my dreamy happenings, but this is Polly Harper we're talking about. The same girl who once bought flea-infested croissants from the grocery's and wouldn't rest until she'd been handed a personal apology from the store manager himself. She'd also in the process, somehow bagged herself a year's supply of croissants. The main reason why my breakfast nowadays consisted of croissants.

"I'm not going to rest until I find out the reason for your big ass orgasm face."

"Really?" I do my best offended face.

"I'm going to go down a list of possibilities and I want you to raise your eyebrows when I hit the right answer."

"Polly, I'm so not participating in this foolery."

"We've already established it's highly unlikely you've won the lottery 'cause otherwise you'd have paid for our drinks." Polly says smoothly ignoring my half-hearted woes.

"Oh my god! You're the one who insisted."

"I offered once and I waited for you to offer again just so that I could decline."

Polly genuinely believed in this twisted logic of hers judging from her smug look. 'That's ridiculous and you know it."

"It's called social etiquette."

"Whatever."

I'm so done with Polly right now…all I can think of is how much longer I'd have to endure this.

"Okay so where was I, not the lottery." She raised her eyebrows, "Red promoted you?"

My face stays impassive .

"You've got a pay rise?"

Nothing. I'm determined not to participate.

"Your landlord doesn't hate you anymore?"

"What?" I round my face at hers.

"Just checking you're actually listening." She carries on with this frankly stupid game. I'm already dozing off when she blurts out. "You got laid?"

My eyebrow twitches involuntarily.

Fuck.

"You got laid!"

My eyes flicker in horror, just as I quickly glance around us. "My mom in Connecticut couldn't quite hear you. Any louder?"

Polly's too busy squealing like I had won the lottery. The sex lottery.

(Like I said earlier…people were way too invested in my sex life.)

"Details. All of it."

"There's nothing to detail." I huff relentlessly.

Yet.

I haven't yet got laid.

Guiltily, my eyes shoot up, worried that Polly may have heard that but she's still hot on her quest to find out the reason for my newly found happiness.

"So?"

I reluctantly return from my Alex filled reverie and just shake my head. "So what?"

"Well something or someone has happened, Piper. So cut the I don't know what you're talking about bullshit and spill."

I might as well tell her. It looks like she wouldn't give it a rest until I provided her with something to sate her voracious appetite.

Rolling my eyes, I hunch even more forward. "You know how I've got a new neighbour... how she was this neighbour from hell with her antisocial tendencies…"

"Get to the point, Piper."

"The night I got pissed and got locked out my door and she helped and we got talking-"

"Hold right there." Polly raises her hands, palms splayed outwards. "I need a minute to take this in. This is profound stuff."

I'm not sure whether she over-dramatising but I carry on. "So I thought I'd slept with her…but didn't…so she comes to Haven and basically asks me out."

"How can you not know?"

"You do remember how much alcohol we had that night?" I ask as a way of explanation.

"Fair point."

"Anyway-"

"She asked you out: yes or no?"

"Not sure." I answer honestly.

Polly cuts a slice of cake, and turns back to me again. "What's her name?"

"Alex. Alex Vause."

"What does she look like?"

"Tall. Hot." My eyes widen all of a sudden. "And she wears those glasses that Chris Hemsworth wore in that interview you're so obsessed with."

"She's got taste." Polly nods approvingly. "What does she do?"

I bring my brows up into an amused frown. "You're like my dad trying to assess the suitability of my would be relations."

"Just answer the question."

"She works for some big advertising company down in Manhattan, I think."

"Wait a minute!" Polly practically flies out of her chair, nearly knocking down most of our table contents. "It's not Alex Atwood? At the Excelsior?"

I'm busy scraping off my cheesecake from the floor where it has met its mushy fate. Narrowing my eyes, I sit back up, "What are you talking about?"

Polly whips her phone out. I watch her jab the screen a few times before she turns it to me.

To my complete surprise: there was Alex, clear as day. It's a corporate photo judging from the professional finish. She looks slightly younger, face more tanned, facing the camera directly and projecting her usual come at me look. Even in picture, she was fine as hell, dark hair falling to just below her shoulders, eyes radiating their intense green, burning the camera lens with it.

I can only slowly shake my head, shock having rendered me speechless. I can't even fully appreciate all of the above, a thousand other thoughts were traversing through my head.

I also had about a week's worth of Google stalking to catch up on…no wonder I couldn't find anything. All I had to type into the search box was her professional name: Alex Atwood.

I return to reality, remembering Polly had somehow unravelled all this within a space of a few seconds than I could over the last few weeks. "How the hell do you know her?"

"So it's her?" She throws back.

"Yeah."

"Holy shit." Polly leans back, absorbing that in for a moment. "You know how I'm always trash-talking Excelsior and Co; you know our biggest competitor?"

My slow brain cells are finally waking up as I quietly finish off her sentence, too astonished to even speak. "The cut-throat young exec who turned the company from nothing into the biggest adverting company in New York." I glance at Polly. "You talk about this all the time."

"I'm more concerned how you've not added two and two together and never even realised this?"

I added two and two and made ninety. Because I was too busy eye-fucking her. Or she was eye-fucking me leaving me with my hands full? I'm not sure which it is. (I'll have to come back to that later)

Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. The large tip. The massive apartment. The very inflated ego issues.

Actually scratch the ego part…I'm working on the assumption that was just part of her personality.

I'll give you some background info so you'll understand just what the fuck is happening because right now it feels as though I'm whitewater rafting without any paddles and no life vest. Take that exact feeling and multiply it by about a hundred.

So, my highly esteemed friend here, works for a smallish commercial company that has been trying to establish itself onto the markets for a while. Difficult when there's a giant ass company - aka Excelsior and Co - kind of monopolising the sector. A company so large and successful, businesses are throwing their money at them in the hope Excelsior adds them to their portfolio and publicly sponsors them.

Because once they started publicising those businesses, they were guaranteed that even the homeless person on a random street in downtown Lima, Peru, would know of their business.

Enter Alex.

Who I've now recently discovered was the young exec Polly has been talking about in less than stellar terms. The young woman who had grown up in a life of poverty, dropped out of high school and started working at Excelsior back when it was nothing but a blip on the radar. Fast forward five years and Alex had turned the company into a global Fortune 500 brand.

"Oh my actual god." Polly exclaimed finally. "It's like a real life fifty shades of grey situation." She threw an impressed smirk. "Fifty shades of gay. Which sounds way more hotter if you ask me."

I offer her an unimpressed smile and take a sip from my coffee which had long gone cold. "Riveting."

Hey Pipe." Polly whispers excitedly. "She's not into all the BDSMy and kinky stuff is she?"

I roll my eyes around. "How would I know that?"

"I mean you haven't seen furry handcuffs or any incriminating leather whips lying about?"

"Not that I could see in the immediate vicinity."

She turns serious again. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know." I'm still kind of reeling from this new found information. "She's kind of cocky and a bit of a know it all." I rethink that out loud.

"So? Cocky is good. Know it alls are good. She might actually turn you from the boring eighty year old grandma that you've become back into someone who's marginally exciting."

"Uh thanks?"

"C'mon Piper. You fucking bought a shower bench. If that's not a sign of a thirty-something who really wants to live the life of an octogenarian, I don't know what is."

"I happen to like to sit down when I'm showering."

"Cool. I've already bought you a knitting set for this Christmas."

"Also I thought you hated her. You talk about this Excelsior more than you do Ryan."

"It's Ralph." She rolls her eyes. "I hate the company because it's successful and rich but I admire the person who built it up to that and to be honest if I was into girls I'd have taken her myself."

She must have noticed my slightly worried expression. "I'm waiting for you to growl at me like a cavewoman who's been scorned."

"Fuck off."

"Relax she's all yours and judging from your about to eat me alive expression - you're very much into her. That's all the answer you need, babe."

Oh and speaking of lotteries. My hand twirls around the piece of paper Alex gave me with her number written on it.

My numbers may just win me the lottery.

Who knew? This might just be my lucky draw.

.

.

.

Remember how I called Alex Vause an asshole.

Well let me just revise that term of endearment to something slightly more apt, which is asshole of the highest order.

Turns out the cell number she gave me was wrong.

I only realised this after I'd spent a full five minutes psychologically prepping myself and outlining the basic script of our would-be phone call.

Not being able to call or text her meant I was forced to turn to my next method of contact: knocking on her door. Alex had opened the door after the first knock, greeting me without a trace of surprise.

It was almost as though she'd been expecting me.

I wouldn't past her to have purposely given me a wrong number.

I must have stood there with my usual lost for words expression I seemed to increasingly harbour whenever I was put in close proximity to Alex.

It didn't also help when Alex was wearing an interesting ensemble of what was jeans and a black waistcoat with nothing but a lacy bra underneath. I'd happily confirmed this after catching a peek of generous cleavage when she'd bent to forward to pick something off the floor. (I may have dropped my phone accidentally on purpose)

Alex is now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, and eyeing me with her usual lascivious stare. "And we meet again."

Her know-it-all leer does its usual job of leaving me rattled, compelling me to speak, "Nobody. Absolutely nobody leaves $250 tips without wanting something in return." I manage to garble out.

"You know it's awfully rude to start with questions before we've even exchanged greetings, don't you think?"

"Did you deliberately give me a wrong phone number?"

Alex sighs, uncrossing her arms and tilts her head up in a gesture of deep thought, "There it is again, a question."

"Okay" I suppress a giant eye roll. "If this is what you're going to be like."

She removes her glasses and takes her time in cleaning the lenses, forcing me to watch as well, "Can't someone show a token of appreciation when the service they'd been given was second to none?"

"In my books $250 is more than just a 'token of appreciation' and whatever it is that you want from me - I'll be unable to give."

"Are you a 100% sure of that?"

I hesitate, not sure what she was insinuating but I could hazard a guess judging from the smile breaking across her face.

I'm not even sure why I'm here or what I was expecting really. Come to think of it, I'm not even supposed to like her. Yet here I am. Through my own volition.

"In the interest of manners, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you short and ask you to continue this conversation inside."

If I didn't know any better than may have been the best way to tell me to shut the fuck and get inside.

I happily oblige.

.

.

.

"Oh my god. You live in a Tardis." I exclaim as soon as I step into her apartment

"I live in a what?"

"You know Doctor Who and the phone box?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Never mind."

To be fair I was clutching at straws to think she'd ever get that reference.

I can't help but be in awe of the sheer expanse of the place. She must have knocked an adjacent apartment together, creating a large open-plan area. It was at least three times bigger than mine.

Alex had good taste. I'll give her that.

Although very sparsely decorated, the warm colour schemes, strategic throw pillows, and floor to ceiling windows made it feel lived in. Next, my eye caught the piles and piles of record albums stacked high against a far wall, which were competing with the almost obscene number of books filling the shelves above.

The only thing that was lacking was photos.

Everywhere I looked and there was not a single photograph of family or friends or even a significant other.

I cock my head and glance at the book spines, surprised when I notice she had nearly every volume of Stephen King titles.

"You're into Stephen King?"

"Why are you acting so surprised?"

"I figured you'd be into-"

She cuts me off, "Harry Potter? Or maybe Mills & Boon?"

"No" I shake my head. "I thought maybe you would have read the entire collection of How to be an asshole 101 since you're so good at that."

Alex shook her head laughing. "You hold me in such high regard...as a matter of fact I also recently completed the rather advanced stage collection of how to be an asshole with class or my other real favourite asshole who dresses well and speaks in innuendos"

"Ah, not heard those. I must have skipped them at my book reading club."

"That's a real shame." Her lips segue into a grin as her eyes lowered bashfully. "You should try it sometime."

I walk toward the window and gaze at the view before us, the pale colours of dusk sun bathing the glass high rises in a shroud of pastel orange. I suddenly laugh out loud.

"Also your view is about a thousand times better than mine. All I have is the back of a Walmart and a full view of the county jail."

"Yeah?"

I turn around, slightly unnerved when I notice Alex had come to stand by my side, her body no more than a feet away. Flustered I continue. "Uh yeah. I've seen things that I probably shouldn't have seen."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact the police at the jail always order from the Mr Papa's around the corner. I mean if there was ever a means of smuggling someone out, it would be in the back of a Mr Papa's delivery van."

"How intriguing."

I turn around and launch into a detailed account of that time I'd been privy to the clandestine drug exchange happenings behind the big Walmart, but I stop short when Alex continues giving me that look. I realise how ridiculously mundane my stories are and worriedly think of what Alex must think of me, boring and pedestrian. That familiar feeling trickles through me: the need to impress people, steer them away from boring-ass Piper and cast the illusion of excitement and originality.

"Enough about your surveillance habits, tell me about you."

The question throws me. It's strangely candid.

It's easy talking about things and stuff, but about myself? Well that's whole different ball game. Also I hate open-ended questions. I've always been more comfortable with the yes or no variety.

"What do you want to know?"

I watch her stroll toward the kitchen, bang open a few cupboards and set out a mix of ingredients obviously required to make a cocktail.

"You can't answer questions with questions."

"Well I work at Haven, but you already knew that." I laugh self-effacingly "I've lived here for about two years, went to Smith to study History of Art and-"

"When I said tell me about yourself - I didn't mean read out a word by word recitation of your resume." She lifts her eyes, her smile full of tease. That need to impress her comes over me again.

I busy myself with watching her mix the drinks, expertly pouring the mix out into two glasses, her hand movements nimble and deft, hypnotising me.

The spell's broken when she places the glass in front of me. I can't help but release a moan of appreciation when I take my first sip, deliberately ignoring her entertained eyebrow raise and carry on sipping. My rejoinders could wait because this drink was beyond fucking marvellous.

"Where did you learn how to make these?"

"I work in advertising. Probably the dullest job on planet earth, so I take up hobbies just to stop myself from jumping off a cliff."

"Is revving your motorcycle at the crack of dawn also part of these hobbies?"

She finishes the last of her drink, her lips turning into an amused smirk. "Smooth."

She points her finger at me. "But she sounds great doesn't she?"

"She?"

"Angie."

"Really?"

"People name their dogs, their boats. Hell, they name their trophies, and I happened to have named my bike."

"Which is it with you?" I start in my smug overtones. "Alex Vause or should I call you Alex Atwood?"

"Atwood's much too corporate." She smiles, too smart for her own good. "Just stick with with Vause or Alex even."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Like I genuinely even had the right.

"Is that a big problem to you or something?"

"What? No! Of course not." I scramble for words, my intonation all apologetic. I'm already regretting my brief venture into snark.

No, I'll have to leave that to her.

"Relax." She pours me another drink and watches me gulp it down in what was probably in very unladylike fashion." I was just fucking with you."

No sooner had she said that, I find myself spluttering over half my drink out through a series of semi-gasps and coughs. Alex was thumping my back, almost ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre while I was busy contemplating whether the wording of that had been deliberate or she just liked her innuendos.

"You okay?" Alex was looking at me like I was one of those stupid kids that had just been rescued from drowning in a two inch deep rain puddle.

"Yeah. Yeah. Must've gone down the wrong way or something." I straighten myself out, nursing my remaining drink, determined not to catch her eye - because I was about 90% sure she'd be poised with that self-satisfied grin. And I didn't want to give her the upper hand with me responding to that in the form of a blotchy red neck and lit up cheeks.

"For a minute there I thought things would escalate to the point where I'd have to give you the kiss of life."

I laugh feebly.

I figured the answer was she likes her innuendos and was very deliberate about them too.

.

.

.

There's absolutely nothing conventional about our relationship and it had me thinking this was how Bella must have felt when Edward the shiny vampire had fallen for her. Minus the blood sucking of course.

"You don't have a fucking toaster?" Alex asks incredulously as she leans against the worktop of my kitchen.

I may or may not have invited her in when we caught the elevator together after bumping into each other at the apartment lobby.

"I do but it doesn't work."

"So how do you toast your bread?"

"I don't."

"And how long has it been like this?"

"I don't know, about three months."

"You've been toast-less for three whole months?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Let me at least have a look at it."

"Alex, honestly, there's no point. I just need to buy a new one." I've been saying that to myself for the last couple of months but never seem to come round to actually doing that. I mean - toaster replacements was somewhere at the bottom of my list of priorities right now.

"Have you got a wrench?"

"No."

"A screwdriver?"

"Don't think so."

"Any kind of tool?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think I need those things considering I'm not a handyman or a mechanic."

"You don't have to be a handyman to have basic things like a wrench, you know." Alex scoffs.

Disgruntled, I huff, "I just call my handyman to do handyman things…why should I try and fix it when there are people you can call who've trained to do these exact sort of things."

I'm not going to deny - I was beginning to sound like my mom who is by the way the poster-woman for all things WASPy, but I was in way too deep now to admit to the fact I was probably wrong.

"I'm going to fix it whether you like it or not. No human should live without one."

"Just don't use a hot glue gun."

"Why would I? I'm not fucking stupid." Alex laughs before she catches my sour of a face, and laughs a different kind of laugh. "Oh."

.

.

.

Alex hadn't at that occasion and it's only a few days later when someone knocks on my door.

"I've come to fix your toaster."

"What are you doing here?"

"That's the wrong answer I'm afraid."

"Do you have any idea of the time?"

Alex shrugs. "Well since three am was a perfectly normal time for you to deliver personalised letters, I figured eleven is not an unreasonable hour." She smiled. "Plus I've got pizza. No one says no to pizza."

I fold my arms, not wanting to make it that easy for her. "Pepperoni and cheese?"

"Now you're just doubting me."

I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

"Pepperoni and cheese. The one with the proper Italian cheese." She lifts her gaze. "You know the melt in your mouth consistency."

I can't help but permit a small smile. "Now you're just teasing me."

"No tease. Premium cheese. An explosion of goodness right there in your mouth."

I'm not entirely sure how we've moved from pizza toppings into these carnal territories but it has me blushing like a fucking tomato.

"Are we still talking about cheese, or?"

"I was just practicing my pizza foreplay." She holds the box out to me. "This delicious baby isn't going to eat itself you know."

Smiling, I swing the door open, moving aside to let her in before brazenly adding, "Foreplay is always followed by greater things."

I've been upping my flirt game quite a lot in recent days - although I'm not sure if I've just scored an own goal on this occasion.

Alex brushes past me, winking at me. "Well aren't you a bucket full of surprises, Piper Chapman."

One nil to me it seems.

If there's one thing my college level English has taught me, it's how to net myself beauties like that.

We ended up sharing most of the pizza between us. Alex was being surprisingly human like, none of the sarcastic throwbacks or the myriad of euphemisms that treaded the line of decorum reared their heads tonight. This was highlighted quite nicely when Alex didn't so much as roll her eyes when I primly asked whether the pizza base was gluten free or not. I mean we could say I was goading her whenever I whipped out my full on insufferable middle-class valley girl routine but I could tell Alex was secretly amused by it from beneath all those disparaging remarks and subtle smirks. And me being the people pleaser that I am, obviously went hard on the pleasing.

There's a sex joke in there somewhere.

Ten points to Gryffindor for whoever can find it.

(If you haven't realised by now, I'm insufferable)

Alex made the executive decision of taking the remaining pizza slice which is just as well. I have an unwritten rule where at least a third of my stomach needs to have room remaining for alcohol.

We're watching the final film of my most loved trilogy, much to Alex's reluctance. I could sort of see why: it featured girls crying at the drop of a hat and people stabbing each other in the back at every given opportunity. My kind of thing. I'm commenting on the ridiculous scene where Misha is making out with a guy she literally met about two scenes ago

"Don't you find it weird when people move so fast?"

"Not really." Alex replies without looking.

I turn to look at her, genuinely interested in the reasonings behind that. "Explain."

"I mean some people click." She snaps her fingers. "Just like that. Why drag things out unnecessarily."

"But you haven't even got to know the person properly."

She still doesn't turn around, "If you're meant to be. You're meant to be."

"Even if you don't even know what you have in common?"

Alex flicks her eyes away from the TV. "You sound really passionate about these things." She raises her eyebrows. "And where do you factor into all of this, Piper Chapman?"

I stumble over my words, "I'd like to get to know the person first before I tried anything."

(I had a feeling we weren't speaking anecdotally anymore)

"Okay." She drawls out slowly, her eyes dancing with mirth. "And where am I in this getting to know a person journey of yours?"

"Let's just stay we're not even a third of the way through."

I'm stubborn. I take after my equally stubborn mother.

"So I'm quarter of the way through." Alex muses thoughtfully. "Luckily for me, I'm quite an optimistic person." She shifts her weight so that's she's facing me full on. "We can fix the rest of the three quarters in no time."

"How?" I can't help but ask.

"Ask me questions to get to know me better. Simple."

"Really?"

"I'm moving my eyebrows very judiciously here. Hint: I'm deadly serious."

"Deadly?"

"You've just learned a new thing about me, I like to exaggerate. Next question."

I dumbly realise she's actually being earnest, my mind's blank so I blurt out the first thing I ask when I message people on Tinder. "What's your favourite colour?"

Alex just shakes her head, chuckling. "How does the answer to that question in any way tell you anything about me. Also the last time someone asked me that was when I answered those security questions when I signed up to my email account."

She had a point. "Okay favourite food?"

Alex laughed out loud. "You're too adorable."

I make a face and scrunch my lips together.

"Coq au vin for the record."

No wonder the vast majority of my Tinder dates always failed to materialise.

"I'll give you a helping hand." Alex pushes her glasses into her hair. "What makes you cry out in ecstasy? What gives you the most pleasure?"

My eyes widened. "Are those rhetorical?"

She sits back, lips curling into a suggestive smirk. "Just a few examples to set the trend."

Can I just pause and add my tuppence worth and say Alex has an uncanny skill of looking eternally hot when she talked dirty.

I decide to not follow that trend and start of with more basic questions, "What makes you angry?"

"Now we're talking. Let's see: people who don't yield at give ways, finding a hair in my takeout, when it rains, when I'm hungry, when the coffee runs out."

"What makes you happy?"

"Reading a good book, pay rises, good food, sandy beaches." She pauses for a second. "Good company."

I smile like a school girl who'd just been awarded a gold star. "Do I qualify as good company?"

That coaxes a wry smile from Alex. "Is the sky blue?"

An almost over the top delight catches in my chest and it feels like I've been catapulted to the roof of the building.

It's strange because the dislike for Alex I'd so actively displayed has always been a kind of half-hearted one that just barely concealed the Empire State crush I had on her.

I had finally figured that out after four glasses of wine and a giant piece of discounted cake I'd shovelled down not a few nights ago.

She throws me that roguish grin, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking about and it has me blushing so hard it's all I can do but laser my gaze at the film we're supposed to be watching. I had no idea what was going on even though I've not seen this third instalment of my favourite movie ever.

I'd lost track of the plot the second Alex had sat down beside me and felt her leg brush up against mine. I had tried my utmost in following the story but my mind palace kept construing some interesting plots of my own, starring Alex and I - whenever she caught my eyes, or my eyes fell to her too tight top. Let's just say my envisions are of the R rated kind. No kids allowed.

"So what makes you happy?" Alex suddenly asks, her voice low and brow arching curiously.

In all honesty I would have answered with a somewhat serious answer but that's negated when Alex's lips segue into a flirtatious smile, her eyes focusing in on my own lips.

She was making things crystal clear.

"Blue seas. Foot massages. Warm beaches. Farmer's markets." I hesitate before adding "…maybe you."

"I see." She makes a point of moving away the pizza box separating us and flings it onto the coffee table before sliding my feet over her lap and begins massaging them with gentle strokes.

"Where are we on that getting to know me journey of yours now?"

I have to hold in my moans of pleasures to be able to answer coherently. "About halfway in."

(feetgasms was a new thing I'm going to add to my list of happy things)

"We're doing well."

"Hmmmm."

Alex slides her hand over my feet, kneading my toes one by one. "What else do you like, Piper Chapman?"

There are a few things in life I lived for and Alex using my full name was the latest addition to my newly created list.

I'm too busy mentally cataloguing all the moments that had led up to this point to register Alex had sidled closer to me. My heart had already been hammering away the second she'd flung that pizza box away and did away with the tiny amount of space that separated us, but now the anticipation was close in causing me spontaneously combust.

"Because I liked you the second you accused me of misplacing trash." Alex says in a low husky tone. "I haven't told you this but you looked so damn hot getting all worked up and bothered."

I'm too entranced to even move a muscle. My body heat must be registering higher than the highest recorded temperature in Florida.

"It's your lips I like the most." She traces them with her fingers and I forget to breathe. "But I can't quite decide between that and your eyes."

"Maybe I can help with that." I murmur dreamily, not even fully aware of what I'd just said.

"Hmmm, I think that's a very good suggestion. After all I have to be definitely sure which it is."

"Of course."

I could feel her stroke my hair, her fingers lightly padding across my face, tracing the outline of my cheekbones before coming to a rest at my nape. Her breath is hot and her eyes an even more intense green than I ever could imagine. And those lips. Ready and reserved for me. And so so close. Just a few microscopic inches.

For once in her life, Alex lets me have what I wanted.

We're kissing.

Right here on my sofa. In my apartment.

Alex kisses me and the world fell away. I hardly had a second to react before she pressed her tongue to the seam of my lips and delved into my mouth. Something awakens inside me, and I lunge forward, firmly kissing her back.

You would think that after weeks of imagining, I would know all there was to know about Alex. What I hadn't discovered was how soft and warm her lips were, and how her hands roaming over my neck and nape obliterated every sane thought in my head.

My hands bury themselves in her hair. I'm too lost in the feeling to even register I'd knocked off her glasses. Alex responds by pushing me backward, draping herself over me, our kisses growing more urgent and frenzied.

"Anything else you need to know about me." She groans into my ear just as my hands found their way under her shirt.

I was right again. Braless.

"I think we've kinda past that now." I murmur breathily, my senses too overwrought to manage more than even a sentence.

"I'm not a clothes person. That's another thing."

"Yeah?"

"I have a special aversion to them." Alex's lips are smiling against mine. They briefly leave and skim the rest of my neck, leaving my skin feeling raw and electric. She rips open my shirt, buttons flying everywhere before she skims her fingers over my offensively sensitive nipples.

The shirt was from Macy's anyway, and I never liked that colour on me either.

"Fuck you're beautiful." Alex mutters in a breath of approval, her eyes washing over my body in sinful streams of desire.

I'm powerless to stop her from delving her hands under my waistband and it's all I can do but bite my lips together as sensations too much to handle for me erupt and send sparks flying through my brain.

"Alex…"

"Also I'm kind of merciless, too."

She punctuates this with pressing her fingers even harder against my centre. And lord help me…this is the closest I'm going to get to a near death experience. Or I've already gone. Genuinely, I'm not sure. I clench my jaw shut, my fingers and nails digging into her back, feeling her shoulder muscles rippling underneath them.

Alex teases me with her lips, lightly skating over them, backing away as I arched forward, my neck muscles taut and stretched.

I'm strung tight. My hips buck forwards as her fingers increase in tempo and she's right, she's merciless. And it's maybe the first time I've cried out in an almost animalistic growl.

"Easy tiger."

"Shit Alex. Shit. Fuck."

I'm climbing higher and higher. Her fingers faster and faster. My toes curl downwards, my hands grabbing onto anything they can find. Alex's skin feels smooth and soft, the surface of it covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Where are we in that journey of ours, now?"

Was she fucking nuts?

I'm writhing around underneath her, her hands doing things I didn't think human hands were capable of doing, exploring, digging and stroking and she asks me this?

And then it suddenly stops.

I breathe out a breath that I must have been holding for five minutes and slowly flicker my eyes open.

"You didn't answer the question." She chuckles, green eyes swimming with pure cockiness as her lips lifted into that signature salacious grin of hers.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I murmur breathlessly.

Her fingers twitch and it sends me into a renewed moan. "100%!" I gasp "We're at the end of the journey!"

"Good girl."

Her lips reunite with mine, our tongues thrusting against each other in a crazy dance of ecstasy and carnal desire.

She slides even further, her mouth tracing downwards, sparing not one part of me untouched and it leaves geysers of hot, throbbing want ready to burst right there in the open.

Alex's husky laugh forewarns her doings and her mouth dives right into me, and I'm so thankful for my apartment with its fifty inch thick walls and double glazed windows because my voice has turned raspy and hoarse from all the fucks and Alex's I've been screaming during the last few minutes of my earth-shattering orgasm.

I slowly return to some sort of stability with regards to my mental faculties and murmur my dumbfounded appreciation. "Wow."

Alex is still breathing heavily. Her toned biceps bracketed over me as she gazed over me, eyes glittering. "I strive to provide the five star treatment."

"Five stars?" I chuckle. "I was seeing about a thousand of them at one point."

Alex turns back and cranes over at the television before fixing me with an apologetic expression, her hands absently running through my hair. "Sorry you missed your film."

I push myself up to my elbow and throw her an incredulous look. "You're such a tease."

"If you must know though, the girl with the manky eyes dies halfway through because she trusted the guy with the three-legged dog when she shouldn't have."

"You fucking seen this already?"

"I'm just good at multi-tasking."

"Alex, you just ruined the entire trilogy for me and you spoiled it just like that?"

My whispered outburst is cut off. "You want to be fucked or not?"

That stops me dead in my tracks, a blush of something heating up my face. I didn't think that particularly direct line of questioning was warranted since there was only one answer and we both knew what it was.

I'm almost too scared to ask. "So what was it that we were doing before?"

"Oh that?" Alex smirks, chuckling as she pulled her own top off and shimmied out of her jeans. "That was just the warm-up, baby."

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.

I wake up to the bright rays of morning sun warming up my face and manage to crack a lazy smile when the night's events come steamrolling back. I turn my head, having to remind myself that last night had indeed happened and wasn't some figment of my overactive imagination.

But where Alex should have been was an empty half of my bed, complete with made up duvets and plumped out pillows, so that it looked as though she'd never even been here. For a brief second I contemplate whether I had imagined it all but then that couldn't be the case because my whole body was pleasantly aching from worn out muscles that had been exercising the whole of last night.

Full on disappointment drives out my earlier pleasant mood in a matter of seconds. I don't even know exactly why it affected me so much. Alex didn't strike me as the kind of person to hang around for pillow talk or even worse, endure the realities the sex when daylight hit.

But some idealistic part of me had just stupidly assumed we'd what what? Waking each other up with chaste good morning kisses and then lovingly shower together?

But then the smell of toast wafts through the open bedroom door.

Confused, I roll out of bed, sitting up.

I can't make toast.

I don't have a working toaster.

So who was making magic toast without a functioning toaster?

My answer is given in the form of a question uttered in low husky tones. "Are you coming or what?"

I traipse into the kitchen and am greeted with the sight of Alex, leaning out of the window, blowing out plumes of cigarette smoke and wearing just her panties and tank top (which by the way, looked even more magnificent in the light of day).

With difficulty, I snatch my gaze away from this unlikely sexy scene and my eyes next rest on the table.

She made coffee and French toast... and were those slices of orange? Because I don't even remember having oranges but even more pressing, my toaster is now in full working order.

"Why are you here?' Is my first smart question. "And did you fix my toaster?"

"And good morning to you, too. I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up. I mean I know we had quite a calorie consuming night but even the sun was beginning to feel unwanted and unappreciated."

I watch her move from the window and take a seat at the kitchen island. "Also yes, I fixed your toaster. Like I promised I would."

I plop down on one of the seats, where I repeat my dumb question.

If you must know…I have trust and abandonment issues and need constant validation to keep those dark thought at bay. (Deep I know)

"Why are you here?"

Alex carries on smoking, not at all affected by my frankly rude-ass greeting. "If you really have to ask…I generally tend to have breakfast in the morning. It's a unique pastime of mine. You should try it sometime."

"You know what I mean, Alex."

Alex sighs, crushing the cigarette in the ashtray. "I liked last night and so I figured I'd like spending the mornings with you too."

There's no hint of sarcasm or humour or even a trace of tease. This was Alex being totally and brutally honest.

She must have caught my stone-faced expression because she adds, uncertainty tainting her words. "I mean if this is not what you want…I don't want to force you into anything."

I stand up and round the table, pulling Alex's mouth against mine, an emphatic kiss neatly planted against her lips. I feel her stiffen with surprise just as I pull a chair beside her and bury my hand underneath hers. "Alex…I'm relieved. Relieved that you're still here, making breakfast and being nice." I pause, intertwining our fingers together. "It's really very lovely."

Alex's eyes flickered behind her glasses, her throat working as she swallowed but didn't say anything.

"Plus I get to wake up to all of this." I make a show of raking over her body with exaggerated sweeps. "How could I say no to any of that? I'd be fucking stupid."

"I'm so glad to be objectified like that." Alex chuckles just as she strokes my lower back in slow endearing circles.

My voice turns serious again. "You know…I don't know what I was expecting really." I shrugged. "But all I know is that I'm glad you're here."

"Well I'm glad too."

I crane my head forwards and this time deliver a chaste kiss.

"I hate to say it…" Alex murmurs in between kisses. "But that toast is getting cold. And there's nothing worse in this world than cold toast."

I lean back, my hands still draped around her neck. "Why is it whenever I'm with you, I'm always presented with these difficult dilemmas of having to choose?"

"You don't have to choose." Alex reaches out and cuts a piece of the toast and holds it between her lips. "How about you have both?"

My eyes narrow with confusion.

Alex's eyes just twinkle mischievously. "Have your French toast followed by a French kiss." She places the piece in my mouth and then snogs the living daylights out of me.

This is the exact reason I should maintain my dogma of always keeping low expectations.

You were rewarded at every opportunity.


	5. you're too irresistible, baby

"So just to reiterate you've never seen Harry Potter?"

"Like I said…never." Alex sighs wearily.

I can't help but press on. "Not even an accidental glimpse when it comes on television or even a few seconds from a trailer?"

"I don't think I have."

"There's about seventeen hours of footage from all the eight films combined and you're telling me you've lived your entire life not seeing any of it?"

"Should I have?" Alex responds lazily.

I'm too incredulous to accept her answer. "I'm sorry, but I can't quite grasp that."

"What were those people you mentioned again, The Demented or something?"

"You mean Dementors?"

"You're acting like one of them right now." Alex mutters. "Sucking all the fun out."

"You have such flair for the kind word."

Alex softly bands my hair away from my face, "Why the surly face? All it does is obscure those pretty blues." She ducks her head and lightly traces her lips over mine, pushing me back against the door, just as I strained my own lips for more contact. I melt into her like wax, closing my eyes as I let myself give over into the heat again.

If you must know, I've been attempting to get ready for the last half hour but failing spectacularly. Unfortunately, I have yet to be blessed with willpower that could evade Alex and her looks.

There were many of those looks but there was one in particular that would immediately halt me in my steps; the I want you in my bed now and it doesn't really matter what you think or that you're going to be at least half a day late should I have my ways with you - because either way it's going to happen - whether you like it or not.

Yes, that specific one. As you can imagine, quite difficult to say no to.

"Alex...I'm genuinely going to be late." I make the mistake of briefly glancing at the clock above us.

"Wait a minute! How is it past half seven? Fuck...I have to be at work in like half hour, and more pressingly; how have we been here for over two hours?"

"I don't know, Piper." Alex resumed her ministrations. "Time flies when you're having fun, haven't you heard?"

"This is serious, Al." I'm already envisioning Red raining her scowls and Russian intoned hisses at me while everyone pitifully watches on. I'm sure 18th century executions have had less audiences than my imminent downfall should I turn up late (again)

"What am I going to say?" I ask dumbly, fixing my hair back into something that didn't resemble a poorly constructed bird's nest.

"You'll think of something, you're pretty resourceful, babe."

"Like what?"

My idiocy fails to acknowledge that if I actually stopped now and got dressed, I'd be able to get to work on time, but my logic of a brain always stopped working when Alex even so much as winked at me.

Alex tucks a stray strand of hair back. "Is that a rhetorical question? Or am I supposed to answer?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay...um you came down with the flu?"

"Really? Were you also the kid that always said the dog ate their homework?"

"You look scarily serious. Okay, how about, a family member fell ill and you had to travel upstate or something?"

"Okay okay." I furiously nod to myself. "That sounds reasonable." I look at Alex, willing her to agree with me. "She'll be fine with that right?"

Just then Alex bursts out laughing. "I wish people would believe my bullshit excuses, however elaborate. I could get CCTV footage of me lying in a hospital bed and they still won't believe me."

"What the fuck Alex." I tug at her sleeves. "This isn't a joke."

"No, what I mean is, your track record is way more spotless than mine." She jests. "You need to use your whole miss goody two shoes, I would never hurt a fly routine to your advantage sometimes."

I hold in an eye roll. "I don't act like that at all."

Alex raises her eyebrows, challenging me. "You really believe that?"

I cross my arms, mildly offended. "I did kill an ant once, you know. I'm not that innocent."

(I know, I'm making a very poor case)

"Aww, did you now? Was it already dead though? Because that doesn't count."

"I left it out in the garden when I found it crawling over my bedroom table, and I think the sun rays must have been too strong, and it was actually really hot that day. I guess it must have eventually died from dehydration or a heat stroke, I'm not sure."

Alex collapses into a fit of snorts. "I'm so sorry." She waved her hand in a flag of apologies but kept breaking into renewed waves of laughter every time she catches my bewildered expression.

"Animal death is not a laughing matter."

"You sure you didn't leave it a saucer of water when you relocated the poor thing to the garden? Or maybe accompanied it with some sunscreen and a mini parasol? I mean these are outdoor insect essentials that they just can't go without."

"You know you were beginning to grow on me, but I guess once an asshole always an asshole." I hiss in a stream of indignance.

"You do know I'm not holding you hostage, you are free to leave whenever you want."

She kinda is though. Hostaging me with her ridiculous good looks and magic hands that seemed to send me into an electric frenzy whenever they touched me.

"Oh fuck you, Alex. Less talk and more of the hand." I murmur defeatedly.

"With pleasure." She responds looking preposterously pleased with herself.

Red better start greasing up her guillotine because I'm going to be royally late.

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.

.

A knock on the door temporarily douses the fire that is currently raging through my body. Alex must have felt my body tense up because she moves her mouth to my neck, ghosting delicate kisses all across my over-sensitive skin. I break through my ensuing moan. "Alex…door."

"Just leave it…it's probably some salesman."

Appeased, I let myself surrender back into her, the kisses deepening, reigniting the inner fire again with the simplest of touches. Alex's hands are roving my waist, climbing upwards and upwards, before finally reaching my breasts who stood ready and waiting.

She flings herself at me, hands hungrily massaging my breasts with such fervour, it's all I can do but clench my fists by my sides. It was as though Alex had cracked the code of the perfect touch, the one that had me biting my lips so hard I was worried I was going to cut straight through them. Just as I squeeze my eyes shut, the pressure of her hands and full lips ravaging my face, about to send me into a different realm altogether - a louder knocks rings through.

"Don't they know we're fucking busy?" Alex hisses between increasingly loud and urgent knocks.

Disappointed, I murmur. "I'll go."

With a certain amount of reluctance I extricate myself from beneath Alex and trudge the few steps to the door. Opening it mid-knock I'm met by a tall guy, maybe in his thirties, staring back at me, all impatient and mildly angry.

His face registers surprise. "You're not Alex."

"Uh no."

"Well is she here?"

"Is there anything you want me to pass on?"

He narrows his eyes, "Is she here?"

I catch his eyes staring at my neck with sudden piqued interest before looking back up at me, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side by several degrees.

Red-faced I already knew what he was honing in on. There it was or were rather, reflected in the mirror next to the door, clear as day: several dark blotches of red marked across various points of my neck.

Hickies.

Courtesy of her, hickies that proudly stated their presence with the same zeal and self-assuredness as the person who inflicted them on me.

I bring my hand to my neck, flashes of how they came about momentarily distracting me.

Okay, inflicted may be the wrong word, maybe gifted them?

"I'm sorry but who are you?" The guy asks, his voice full of suspicion.

"Who are you?" I throw back.

Exasperated, he shakes his head. "Where's Alex?"

"She's not here." I hear Alex whisper in my ear. She must have stealthily crept up behind me, perfectly hidden from Mr Angry's line of vision. I feel her nudge me in my ribs prompting me to essentially parrot her words back. "She's not here."

"Where is she?"

"Work."

"Work." I echo.

He frowns again. "Who are you again?"

Alex murmurs more words in my ear.

"I'm her girlf-" I automatically regurgitate before stopping midway, realising what I was about to echo back.

He arches his eyebrows, "Well can you tell her she needs to pick up my phone calls…I know she's ignoring me. And can you also tell her, she's not the hot shot woman she thinks she is…" He starts backing away. "You tell her that."

I slam the door shut in a huff of righteous disapproval, already lining up with an army of questions for Alex but she's got other plans. Her hands slide under my shirt, gently caressing my back. I can feel her breathing hot on my neck. I swallow a groan, waves of pleasure ricocheting through my body.

I find myself terribly conflicted.

She twists me around and backs me against the door, continuing her voracious onslaught. "Now where were we?"

Her mouth descends against mine once again, the kiss warm and unhurried.

"Who was that?"

"No one important."

"He didn't seem that unimportant."

Alex chuckles. "He's a douche. You don't have to worry about him."

"He wasn't your boyfriend or anything?" I manage to gasp around Alex's tongue, firmly placed in my mouth.

"And what makes you think that?"

How she managed to undo my shirt without so much as a fumble was something I've yet to discover. Alex trails her mouth across my collarbone, before reaching that delicate point between my ear and shoulder.

"In my world…fuck…ignoring phone calls…Alex…ignoring phone calls is either because of a jilted lover or a salesman…jesus christ…" She's never going to let me finish this sentence is she? On cue, Alex pauses for a second, and flashes me a ravishing grin.

"You've got one minute…so you were saying?"

Much more succinctly I ask. "Who was that?"

"Jack." I felt her smile against my skin, hands free to roam again.

Apparently my minute had already expired. "He's my co-partner at work."

"So you're not sleeping with him?"

Alex stops her movements, leans back and tilts her head. "Wait a minute…are you jealous?"

"Fuck no!" I scoff louder than necessary. "Never in a million years."

"So you don't care either way?"

Alex didn't wait for an answer, instead she carefully began unbuttoning her own shirt, letting it slide off her shoulders - permitting me a full view of toned arms and boob glory. I shiver involuntarily, my body betraying my goddamn mess of a mind right now - which was full with flitting images of mouths and thighs and secretary glasses.

I hesitate sheepishly. "Can you just answer my earlier question?"

I shudder just as my hands are roughly pinned above my head, her hips bucking against mine, any harder, I was sure that door was going to come clean off its hinges.

"Relax…I'm very anti-dick and very pro this."

"Pro this?"

"Pro you."

"Because I don't have a dick?" I splutter.

"You really have a knack for setting just the right ambience with your choice of words."

I'm too engrossed by the sensation of Alex's tongue flicking my earlobe before moving back to my mouth and taking it with such ferocity…I'm pretty sure the reason I can't speak is because my lungs had all the air stolen. And how the fuck could I even coherently think much less function, when a hand kept escaping underneath the waistband of my jeans, causing my back to arch . My cries staple at the back of my throat, implicitly begging for more friction and pressure.

"I'm gay as fuck, Piper. So shut the fuck up with that that dick and boyfriend bullshit. It's slightly off-putting to say the least." Her eyes flew back to mine, dark and turbulent, daring me to speak out.

I keep shtum.

"Right now, let me fulfil all those fantasies of mine." She smirks and adds as an afterthought. "Those strictly gay thoughts."

I didn't have be told twice.

It's my turn to take her mouth into a rapturous, hard kiss.

"Undo your pants." I command in a raspy voice I didn't know I even had. "Now."

Alex chuckled amusedly. "Is this the assertive Piper I've only heard about?"

"It's your turn to shut the fuck up now." I growl into her hair. I'm not sure where this new found confidence was coming from but I liked it and so did Alex, because she near enough rips my jeans off and reunites our bodies again in mere seconds.

"Yes ma'am."

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.

"Have you been attacked by a bear, Chapman?"

"What? Huh?" I swivel around, nearly dropping the plates I was carrying when I'm met by Red and her narrowed glare. I follow the direction of her disapproving gaze which was squarely rested all over my hickey-infested neck. Fuck, the makeup I'd so hastily applied this morning had already rubbed off revealing the consequences of my sin-filled morning.

I'd managed to evade Red and her polished guillotine in the nick of time, having quickly assumed my position at the back of the room for our morning brief, and thankfully hadn't noticed me.

"Something like that." I laugh weakly just as I mentally groan.

I could've said I've been attacked by a raccoon, a rodent...hell I even had the chance to blame it on the recent increase in New York's rat population. But no.

"You millennials and your vampire tendencies." She scowls. "Back when I was younger, a bowl of hot borscht before bedtime and a few minutes of the good old missionary, and I'd be asleep like a baby fairy."

Red and missionary positions was not something I wanted to hear about in the mornings. Actually scratch that - I don't want to hear ever. I give her my best polite smile and make a show of dashing into the kitchen, where I pick up my apron and list of orders before hastily setting off to work.

It's mid afternoon, and I'm partnered with Taystee today, who bless her has a tendency to talk more than work. "Hey Pipes, is your large tipper friend gonna come back by any chance?" She asks me just as we both collect our orders. "I mean if she does can you let me take her orders? I've been meaning to buy this damn cute outfit that's on sale at JC Penney's and P, it's speaking to me every damn time I walk past the window display."

"I think it was just a one time thing." I add as a means of gently letting her down. "It took me by surprise as well."

"It took us all by surprise." Nicky flares in with her usual exaggerated entrance. "What Chapman is trying to say is that those texts that she's secretly laughing at when she thinks we're not looking are most probably from our esteemed tipper, and that we definitely need to pretend we don't know about this."

My tone is grudging, "Hello, Nicky. How nice of you to grace us with your lovely presence."

She leans back against the counter, arms crossed, looking mightily pleased with herself "On a scale of one to ten, how right am I?"

My strangled expression is answer enough...I'd have to score Nicky a good solid ten.

I genuinely thought I'd been hiding it so well. I guess not by the looks of things. I mean I've probably not been so discreet with my reactions. But then again what sane person would not be able to contain their responses when they kept constantly receiving texts that would make my stomach muscles clench together in rapture or cause me to stick my entire fist in my mouth to stop the moans from escaping?

Yes, I was receiving those kinds of texts. The sexy times kind. The last text had me cross my legs with such force, I'd been highly certain I was going to dislocate a hip. During a particularly highly descriptive one of what exactly she would do to me, I had to hide behind the pots and pans and wait for the tomato colour of my face to return to something more human like.

How did she even have time to be sending me all this? Wasn't she supposed to be some hotshot executive reigning in all her minions?

Nicky knowingly points at me, "Ten. I give myself a fair ten."

My phone's buzzing in my pockets announcing the arrival of yet another text.

I pretend I've not heard it.

"Aren't you gonna look at that, Pipe?" Taystee asks.

A tinkling laugh that wasn't the least bit authentic escaped from me

"She will." Nicky smirks at me. "But will it be before or after the cold shower? That's the 64 million dollar question."

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.

.

"Oh shit fuck!"

The sky had decided that the best time for a huge rain apocalypse was the second we had all stepped outside.

"What in the fuck is this?" Nicky lamented. "This isn't even normal rain! I swear it's raining horizontally."

We're all cowering beneath the flimsy canopy outside Haven. Some of us had just finished our shift and none of us had the good sense of bringing an umbrella much less wear something more suited to the wet conditions.

"Have you people never heard of umbrellas?" Soso's non-intentional smug voice rang out - everything came out as smug sounding with her whiny, social justice warrior voice ( if there's such a thing).

We all turn around, watching her stand beneath the most fluorescent pink umbrella I've ever seen.

"I'd rather drown in my own tears then been seen walking under that monstrosity." Nicky quipped. "I wouldn't want people mistaking me for a discount version Disneyworld character."

"Suit yourself then."

"Does that fit two people?" Taystee tentatively asks, apologetically shrugging her shoulders at us. "I gotta look out for my hair you guys. Do ya'll have any idea how long it takes to get it like this?"

"Really, Tay?" Poussey retorts. "You gonna abandon us like this?" As though Taystee had just committed the worst possible act of treason ever.

"I mean the colour isn't that bad.' I add wistfully.

"Don't you fucking dare, Chapman." Nicky grabs me by the sleeve and drags me back before I could take a step forward. 'You're not jumping ship as well."

"But she looks so dry!" I protest, sadly watching her and Taystee walking away.

"C'mon you guys, it's not that far to the subway station…let's go." Poussey says with her usual optimistic thinking.

So we find ourselves semi-running, hands over our heads, trying (unsuccessfully) to stop the rain from gleefully soaking us.

"This reminds me, why the fuck do none of you drive?" Nicky says in between huffs of rapid breaths.

"This is New York!" Poussey answers swiftly. 'You'd be batshit crazy."

"The bigger argument is why between four people why no one bothered to even get an umbrella?"

"Sorry Chapman. I don't have time to be scouring weather forecasts."

I'm about to retort with something sarcastic when some unforgiving motorbike riding asshole zooms through a puddle of rain and does away with the remainder of any dry parts we still had.

"What in the fuck?" Nicky cries out.

"Hey inconsiderate asshole! I've got your license plate!" Poussey adds angrily.

To our utmost surprise motorbike person slows down in response and stops a few blocks ahead of us.

"Oh shit…I didn't mean the asshole part." Poussey whispers regrettably as we all watched the person kill the engine and expertly dismount the bike.

I'm not going to lie - I've seen way too many road rage videos on YouTube to only hazard a guess how this was going to end. So when an all black leathered person is approaching us, their helmet visor reflecting the mildly weary expressions on our collective faces, it makes us swallow any remarks we had, very quickly.

But then I recognise that cocky swagger from anywhere, and that dark hair cascading from beneath that helmet and it has me widening my eyes in complete and utter surprise.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I manage to exclaim in part horror, part happiness.

Poussey and Nicky cock their heads at me, their faces schooled into expressions of tentative admiration and semi-confusion.

"Wow Chapman. You sure have a death wish." Poussey hisses at me.

"I don't know either of you people." Nicky declares emphatically. "I'm not involved in this at all."

I'm bothered by the fact I've just been drenched in grimy New York water by none other than my dark haired heathen of a friend than any of these guys' remarks.

"Such warm reception that always tugs at the heartstrings." Alex declares mildly. She removes her helmet in one elegant sweep, before running a hand through her hair and smoothing it out. "I think it's all the fucks that make it so romantic or is it the the delivery of it? It's difficult to decide."

I'm too engrossed by how renegade and decidedly sexy this combination of actions were and so in an ode to my weak self - already start forgiving her in my head.

I mean it was quite warm and sticky today anyway, a good amount of cool puddle water has sorted me right out.

"What are you-"

She cuts me off with a blistering kiss that has possibly sent me into a different dimension, a dimension where mere kisses could render someone catatonic and possibly delirious. I'm both at the moment, and then I remember I also have lips which can return the favour, so I do. Kiss her.

Right in this New York street with some of my work colleagues watching on in awe. Before it turns beyond PG rated, we eventually pull back, my heart slowly coming down from its speed of light drumming, having returned from that aforementioned dimension, and it suddenly feels as though I've been reinvigorated.

The rain that bothered me so much has been reducing to nothing.

Fuck the rain - I'm having a very gay Notebook moment here.

"Uh, Piper?"

I whip around, having almost forgotten Poussey and Nicky were still here, both of them looking spectacularly shocked.

I give them a sheepish shrug of the shoulders, fixing them with a who'd have thought it sort of look.

"Do you know her?" Poussey tentatively asks.

I can't help but raise my eyebrows at this question.

Yes, because I normally let hot strangers on powerful bikes kiss me senseless.

Thankfully Alex answers for me, "She knows me 100% apparently." She looks back at me and winks. "Piper can definitely vouch for that."

Nicky seems to have recovered from her temporary mutism and pats me hard on the back. "Chapman, you bagged yourself quite the person."

"Thanks, Nicky." I murmur sincerely.

But then she seems to retract and instead takes a sudden step backwards, her eyes flickering with new found surprise. "Hang on a minute…this isn't some weird escort agreement you guys are participating in?"

"What?"

"She tipped you $250 dollars." She furtively glances at Alex. "Yeah, I'm not going to forget a face like that in a hurry." And she looks at me again. "How many hours is she getting with you for that amount?"

"Nicky are you being serious now?"

"I have to ask."

"Dont worry, champ. This is all of my own accord. We're both consenting adults who happened to like each other a great deal." Alex blithely responds just as she fixes me with a look so intense, I'm about an inch away from climbing her like a tree. Just to test my discipline even further she adds in a low whisper. "Too damn much I think."

"I think this might be our cue to go." Poussey softly interrupts, nudging Nicky in the sides.

Nicky throws me a smirk. "Chapman, I have so much love for you right now, it's unreal." She fixes Alex with an apologetic face. "Not like that of course. In a completely non-romantic, non-sexually teasing and definitely in a non- I want to fuck the living daylights out of you. Absolutely none of that."

Alex turns to look at me, as if I have any control over Nicky and her less than couth mouth.

"Thanks for clarifying that with such fervid detail - that was both so intensely evocative and not at all disturbing." Alex says with exaggerated verbosity. "It really drives the point home."

"My pleasure."

"Well it's nice meeting you all but unfortunately there's only one extra person who can ride Angie with me."

(For the record I'm letting that blatant innuendo pass)

"I'm sure you're all great people." Alex continues. "And I do apologise for the splashing. My eyes must have wondered off the road to something much more interesting and visually appealing." She punctuates this with a possessive rub over my shoulders catching my eye and puckering her lips at me.

I'm on actual cloud nine right now.

With an exaggerated theatrical bow, Alex announces with mock-formality. "Milady's ride awaits."

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	6. a sky full of sars

[alex/atwood] Have I ever told you how insanely boring board meetings are? I'm practically fermenting in a pool of boredom right now.

[p/chapman] Some of us have real jobs, hard graft and getting our hands dirty. No time for boredom

[alex/atwood] You work in a high end restaurant in central new york and the worst you have to handle is a lukewarm bottle of Pinot Grigio and caviar-stained towels. Do not take that high ground, Piper Chapman.

[p/chapman] what's the weather like up there in your ivory tower?

[alex/atwood] cold and lonely :( need you to make an appearance and warm the place up for me

[p/chapman] All I would do is switch the radiator on and bring you a blanket. Should warm you up in no time

[alex/atwood] that's not the route I was going down. Spoilsport

[p/chapman] I'm there in spirit though

[alex/atwood] hang on. Can't touch her...can't kiss her. Pisspoor attempt, spirit Piper

[p/chapman] Sorry. 10/10 for effort though

[alex/atwood] what are you wearing now?

[p/chapman] we are so not going there. Also it's overly weird sexting with that corporate name of yours. I mean is this even you? Or am I actually talking to some middle-aged creepster?"

[alex/atwood] I would have sent you photographic evidence but my co-partner is currently throwing me daggers so probs shouldn't

[p/chapman] oh is this the infamous jack? (evil eyes). He better keep his distance or I'll have to smack him down

[alex/atwood] you know I'm always so turned on by that possessive streak of yours...

[p/chapman] well you can turn yourself off now...gotta go

[alex/atwood] again...now oddly turned on by your assertiveness

[p/chapman] stop acting like a broken light switch and get to work

[alex/atwood] (blows kiss)

[p/chapman] (catches it and aggressively throws it back)

[alex/atwood] I'm hurt...gonna have to punish you tonight. clothes on the floor when I get back.

"Chapman! In here now!"

If someone could ever quite literally jump out of their skin - it would have been me at the exact moment Red's voice boomed into my ear.

I also seemed to have suddenly developed lightening speed reflexes, because that laptop lid was slammed down in the fastest time it had ever been.

I whip my head back, embarrassment no doubt flashing across my face like a neon sign. Red was staring at me with those observant hazel eyes that always saw and knew too much. Sulking, I refuse to entertain the thought of just how long she'd been towering behind me or rather how much of my you've got mail-esque conquests with Alex she had read.

I'm hoping that considering English is her second language she hadn't been able to get very far. But then I remembered a smidgeon of information — apparently they taught English very well in Russia. I gulped, forcing myself to turn away from her deep-set glare.

There's something about working in the food-service industry that had turned me into a near savant in reading people and figuring out the meaning behind their micro-tics. It might be the slight upturning of a nose to signify disapproval of a meal, or the long drained sigh when the wait had been too long. It was a learned art — possessing the ability to hone in on these subtle expressions and react accordingly.

But that skill came to a grinding halt when it came to Red aka The Boss. A stern look could mean she was about to punish you severely, or maybe her reaction to winning a restaurant of the year award or a direct response to standing on a piece of Lego. It was all the same.

So puzzled and equally worried I follow Red into her office, and stand right beside the door. It's to ensure my immediate escape should things get heated and/or physical.

Don't get me wrong, Red wouldn't place a finger on us…except for that time Nicky had burnt about fifty pounds of steak she'd forgotten in the oven. She'd been given a good wring of the ear.

But right now, a blood vessel I had never spotted was pulsating just above Red's left eyebrow, and were those her nostrils just flaring?

I find myself inching closer and closer he door, my hands already twitching to grab for the door handle.

She finally speaks, "Piper Chapman, you have brains, no?"

I frown as I turn the question over. I mean biology would say yes to that quite easily, but I surmise that's not the answer Red is looking for.

"I don't understand, Boss?"

"That thing. The pink fleshy mass that weighs about three pounds that is supposed to be occupying your shiny skull." She growls. "Something missing in many people these days. Do you have it?"

My face is probably the epitome of mixed fear and confusion. "Uh yes."

"You want this partnership, yes?"

I stand up a little straighter. "Of course, Boss. I've never wanted anything more in my life."

My heart's pounding in my chest. Is this the I'm getting fired speech? Fuck.

"And do you understand the reason I can't give it to your right now?"

"I know we've had problems with attracting more numbers…meaning we can't expand until popularity increases."

She nods her head in approval, as though I've finally given the right answer. I lean back against the door in relief, maybe I'm not getting fired after all.

"And what do you think the solution to that problem is?"

"It's expensive but better advertising."

My eyes drop to my hands and then back at Red again, whose face looks like she's on the verge of having a full on stroke. I'm torn between calling for an ambulance or getting the hell out of dodge.

"Okay…" She hisses. "So why in the sweet fuck did you not tell me that you're sleeping with THE Alex Atwood from motherfucking Excelsior & Co?"

I'm not entirely sure how long I've been frozen, staring with a sort of open-mouthed horror just as my three pound of a brain starts juddering at full steam. "I don't understand?"

"You don't understand?" She flings her hands up in the air. "She's the biggest advertising exec in New York and you didn't think to maybe, maybe slip our name to her in the hope Haven could be publicised by them?"

Pause.

Let's dissect that down a little further.

When in this actual millennia would I ever have stopped and considered my professional interests when I'm with Alex? Has Red even met her? Does she know I basically transform into a bumbling illiterate mess when I'm put within two feet of Alex? Does she also know that I'm generally screaming Alex's name out during throes of ecstasy than be kindly asking questions over whether she could consider adding Haven to her portfolio?

That's a giant no on all counts.

"I'm sorry…it never even crossed my mind, Boss."

She stares at me in complete ludicrousness, which is so ironic because her next words are just…

"Our recipes could be streamed during the SuperBowl breaks, our banner side by side with the McDonalds logo in Times Square…we could even have our brand engraved onto the Statue of fucking Liberty."

I cock my head quizzically…I'm leaning more toward calling for an ambulance - I'm sure stroke can manifest as incomprehensible speech, because next I wouldn't be surprised if Red wanted Haven drilled onto the moon surface for the world to see — and hey, let's not stop there; the Hollywood signs looks a bit bare without our name printed across it — fuck that, let's replace the thing entirely.

I'm almost prudently wanting to add Alex is a company director not a fucking God.

(Her God like tendencies in getting me to climax in less than a minute may disprove that particular point, but that's another matter entirely)

"Chapman, have you not heard of networking? Sense of business?"

I studied History of Art and English. Of course I fucking haven't.

Cut-throat business was all but an abstract concept to me.

"Yeah I think so."

"Don't come back without a goddamn deal or your days are numbered here."

Did she just blackmail me? Did she just?

She's nodding to my silent question. "Next time you see your lover, you remember what I told you."

I think that's my cue to go.

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"Let's see what's on the menu tonight."

Alex leans over me and swipes the recipe book off the counter.

We were at hers. This was after I had insisted I would showcase my culinary skills to her. My promise hadn't gone very far, considering I had forgotten to buy over half of the ingredients for my so called dinner party. Ne'er a bigger fail than me. It's my middle name.

"So for starters we have Greek yoghurt." Alex looks up at me. "A very intricate and complex dish, do you think you can manage?"

I wasn't exaggerating when I said I forgot most things. Luckily Alex didn't seem to care that much.

Also, it's been two whole days and I still hadn't broached the Haven/Excelsior situation with Alex. It's not something that took precedence right now, so Red and her threats could wait.

Alex covertly starts stroking my legs. "Hmmm yogurt; just like your legs, smooth, pale and easy to spread."

I brush her hands away, too shamed to engage. "Where did you get that from? The book of failed puns?"

"No smile?" She sits at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the counter. "I had to practice that line in the mirror a fair few times."

"I'm having a grocery related breakdown here, no time for jokes." I sigh miserably.

"We can always get takeout, just relax."

"I can't…not when all I remembered is fucking yogurt and olive oil."

"Yogurt and olive oil sounds delicious, but I'm gonna have to pass. Chinese or Italian? Your pick.

"Italian."

"Sorted." She makes a grab for her jacket and keys, places a peck on my cheek, squeezes my ass and walks out of the door. "Don't burn the apartment down while I'm gone!"

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"What exactly are you doing?"

It's the second time, I've nearly succeeded in leaving my skin. I nearly topple out of the chair, having to grab hold of the table to stop me doing so. I hadn't heard Alex come, nor had I noticed she was standing behind me, peering over my shoulders.

"Nothing." I shoot out, just as I slammed the second laptop in as many days down hard.

"It looked more than nothing, Piper."

Alex circumvents around me and opens her laptop back up again.

We're met with an Excel spreadsheet of Excelsior's client list, and to make matters worse, I must have accidentally opened this month's account data as well, because that was staring back at us as well.

When people had bad days, they called it going pear-shaped. When my days were bad, it was an expired pear festering in a heap of its own juices. So much worse.

"I can explain." I stammer, scrambling for words. Because genuinely it's not what it looked like, contrary to what people said — I had become bored with my own presence, and Alex had texted me she was stuck in traffic and would be another half hour, so naturally I did what everyone else does, which was to surf the net to kill time.

It's not my fault, I maximised the wrong window, which happened to be the client list, and not my fault when curiosity got the better of me, compelling me to skim the list for the names of our nearest competitors. All perfectly innocent.

I'm unnerved by how coldly different Alex looks. There's none of that easygoing smile or glittering of eyes, instead her mouth was cast into a thin line and eyes darkened with accusation.

Oh shit. Piper Chapman incoming, boarding flight: get me the fuck out of here

"Alex, it's not what it looks like."

"You're snooping through my laptop. What else is it supposed to look like?"

"I was reading the news. And this popped up and I guess curiosity got the better of me."

"I've been curious to know what colour your underwear is but does that mean I go trawling through your panty drawer?"

"I'm sorry okay. I was being stupid." I wait for her to break into a content smile, dismiss all this with a wave of the hand — but Alex whirls toward the laptop and starts pressing buttons, scanning windows and scrolling through large texts. "What else have you been doing on here?" She tilts her head back at me, eyes blazing with forceful demand but turns her head back at the screen again before I could even say anything, and continues clicking through computer files.

Last call for boarding... Last call.

Confused, I scramble to my feet, pushing my chair back, totally unsettled by Alex and her strange over the top behaviour.

"Why are you getting so defensive? It's not like you've got the code for the US nuclear programme in there." I mutter, trying to dampen the sudden hostility with my badly placed humour.

"So because I don't hold classified information, it makes it okay for you to go through my stuff?"

"Alex." I take a few steps toward her. "What's the big deal even?"

Alex just huffs with derision, busying herself with placing the laptop back into its case.

My voice turns into an apologetic murmur. I'm suddenly hit with a wave of anxiety, this is not how I wanted my evening to go, and so I find myself filling the heavy silence shrouding us with whatever I could. "Look, I just wanted to see which companies were part of your clientele…I guess now is the best time as any…Red…my boss, wants me to drop our name to you, to see whether you could add our restaurant to your list."

Okay. That sounded about ten times worse than it had in my head, and Alex seems to agree because she narrows her eyes, head whirling at me, her gaze fixed with mine - trapping it. 'What?"

What do you mean I can't fly? I'm a frequent flier of flight get me the fuck out of here. I have the fucking air miles to prove it.

She makes a show of placing her glasses in her hair. "Let me get this straight…so you want me to advertise your restaurant? Was this before or after we got together?"

My heart ricochets against my chest, so hard, I'm thinking it's going to fall out here, and land right between our feet. "Is that what you really think?"

"I don't know what to think anymore."

I'm struggling to release my words, because of all the directions this conversation was headed, this one was not one I could have foreseen. "I actually can't believe you would even imply such a thing."

Alex doesn't seem to be listening. "Is this thing we have just one big elaborate plan in expanding your business? I've seen your boss, she looks the type to devour anything in her path." Alex looks at me with renewed disgust. "What am I to you, Piper? Just a business tool to forward your career, who happens to give great sex?"

Flight cancelled until further notice. Ferocious hurricanes of anger to blame

My quiet hurt and apologetic stance began to disappear, slowly replaced with a simmering and righteous anger. "You're making it sound like I've let you fuck me for business purposes only."

"You can't blame me for thinking it."

That statement might as well have slapped me squarely in the face. "I distinctly remember you're the one who was knocking on my door at all kinds of crazy o'clock, kept turning up at my place of work. That's not my doing, Alex. So you can cut that bullshit right there."

I take a few steps back, too hurt and angry to continue this conversation any longer. "And fuck you for thinking I'd be that kind of a person."

Alex rounds the table, looking all incredulous. "You're telling me to go fuck myself? After I've caught you going through my business accounts…and you've miraculously turned this into my fault?" She laughs, all patronising. "Congratulations, you've just done the impossible." And she starts clapping. None of the fun, well-meaning kind of clap but the slow, sanctimonious kind.

Her audacity to assume I would steal her pesky business secrets was too far-flung of an idea for me properly come to terms with, and who did she think she was?

"I'm not even going to respond to that, real mature."

"Do you ever think that you might be in the wrong?"

My eyes burn with fury. "The only goddamn reason I came to yours right now, was because you asked me to. And instead I'm being treated like I'm some sort of dirty criminal."

Alex crosses her arms and simply scoffs, which enrages me even further. "I'm surprised you can even talk with that giant weight of an ego you carry around all the time."

I snatch up my phone up from the counter, and start putting my jacket on. I'm too erratic and riled up to even figure it how to put my arms through the sleeves. "Newsflash, not everything's about you…you fucking arrogant asshole."

Alex seems to realise I'm actually being serious, "Where do you think you're going? I'm not finished yet."

Alex follows my hasty exit to the door and damn her long legs - because she gets there before me and blocks herself in front of the door.

"That's a shame, because I'm getting away from you and your bullshit." I huff angrily. "Don't make me push you of the way. I fucking mean it, Alex."

"God, you think you're something else, don't you?"

We're glaring at each other, face to face, noses flaring, breathing coming out in short clipped bursts. There's a lot of anger sizzling the air between us.

I have to draw in a deep breath, suddenly feeling as though there wasn't enough oxygen getting in my lungs, my pulse thrumming low and fast. We regard each other wordlessly - too long for it to be something simply innocuous.

And it's kind of fucked up…but right now my right hand wants to punch Alex in in her million dollar face and my left wants to push her back against the door and unleash my mouth against hers. I've never been one to condone or even relish in the rough or hate variety of sexy times but there's always a first for everything.

Thankfully, I'm ambidextrous so I do neither instead, I roughly push her away from the door, making space for my quick exit. Alex doesn't really resist, nor say anything in response.

"Go fuck yourself, Alex."

With that lingering remark, I stomp out of the apartment, slamming the door as hard as I can on my way out and storm back to mine.

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Sixteen orders.

Three birthday tables, and a raging altercation between a married couple which had escalated into the wife pouring a glass of wine over her non-plussed other half. I think that was the last anniversary they had celebrated together. Which conveniently brings me to my own relationship woes. Alex and I didn't even have an anniversary to celebrate, well that was until Target started selling happy quarter-year cards.

Fuck. I couldn't even buy that until next week.

But there was no next week.

"Order ready for table five, Chapman! It's been ready for over half a century." Poussey shouts from behind the cookers.

I glance up and mutter, "Yeah sure."

I've been walking around and going about work with my head stuck in a heavy fog. All morning I've been furiously rationalising my actions from last night.

Of course I wasn't at fault. Of course Alex was the wrongful one - her just being the self-centred person she always was.

I trundle toward my table; full of screaming kids and spent moms trying to discipline their offspring. I'm tempted to pour the tomato sauce over their heads, probably a much more effective way in getting them to shut the fuck up. Didn't they know I'm trying to wallow in grotesque amounts of self-pity? God, kids these days.

I unceremoniously offload everything onto the table, not even caring when one of the moms yelps when a stray bread roll lands in her lap.

I head back to the kitchen, just as new thoughts start bulldozing my previous ones flat to the ground. Because now dammit, excerpts of Alex making me breakfast in bed with a fully functioning toaster make their way through, next I'm being tortured with an image of her fondly smiling at me wearing that off-green NYU sweatshirt she loved. (she wears it ironically)...(don't ask)

I fumble for my phone, my finger an inch away from answering her maybe thousandth voicemail or write back to her thousandth message, but then I'm justly reminded of her know-it-all bullshit, so then my hand spools back to its rightful place.

"Didn't know the forecast was going to be thunder and lightning - otherwise I would have brought my umbrella."

This time my groans are audible, my feet already carrying me away from the source of that voice.

"Your face looks like thunder, Chapman. Who spat in your cereal this morning?"

"Nichols, not today."

"Has this something to do with our motorbike-riding tipper extraordinaire?"

Alex didn't deserve any of those adjectives, in my books she was still a fucking jerk, and also I really didn't want to be here.

I make a show of cleaning plates, "What's it to you?"

"Tay's told me every time you glance at your phone - your face looks like it's about to roll off your neck."

"What?" I twist around, indignant.

"I mimicked your sexting face, and she said it was definitely not that one."

"My sexting face?" I should not be goading her but I needed to know.

"Imagine the face of a baby just when their toys have been taken away and superimpose that over the face of someone whose just been told they've stood on shit - barefooted."

"That's my sexting face?" I hiss affronted.

"No." Nicky makes a face, "That's the one you've been making all of today." She jumps on the counter. "So spill the beans."

I hesitate, I really want to get this whole shit-fest off my chest, more so just to be told I was right.

"It's complicated."

"So is algebra, but there's always a simple explanation."

"My fucking life is not an algebra equation." I suddenly exclaim.

"So what's the deal?"

"We argued over something stupid…" I shake my head. "And now we're not speaking."

Nicky's tone is laden with mockery, "Let me just get my tiny violin out and start playing a rendition of your life must be so hard and difficult when you have to decide between fucking her on a Tuesday or after you've made up the following Friday."

I throw her my dirtiest look ever.

"Hang on, hang on." Nicky jostles me "I think I can feel a tear making it's way out."

MY tone is filled with derision. "Just throw yourself into the nearest trashcan, Nichols"

"Dude." She sits up and gives me her most serious face. "In all seriousness, that's how most of my relationships never turn into anything but short-lived flings. I balk at the first sight of confrontation. Go figure."

A rare glimpse of earnestness from Nicky feels as though I should be recording this for future reference. "Thanks for that... even if most of it felt like you were just insulting me.

"You're welcome."

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.

Still miserable, hurt and brimming with self-sympathy, I walk to the back of the kitchen, my steps as sullen as my mood.

Alex had texted me. I ignored it. Cue more anger at myself.

I step outside via the back-door that led into the alleyway lined with waste containers and discarded carton boxes. I'm barely through the first day of my so called relationship breakup and already it felt as though I've lived through weeks and weeks of it.

The sky was inky dark, just a few white lights struggling to shine through the thick grey clouds. I crane my head at the skies, giving it my best sad, far-away stare. I'm really embracing my role of the scorned wife tonight. I've been abandoned and slung in this situation, I might as well go fully out.

I'm knocked out of my pseudo-sadness when a car turns into the street, nearly blinding me with its powerful halogen headlights.

Peering through half-covered eyes, I watch it come to a smooth halt a few metres away from me. The passenger door opens and a shadowy figure slowly steps out, and starts speaking of their own accord. "I don't believe in God but there's something about solitary star-gazing that always makes me feel so spiritual and divine. It's the inner Virgo in me." The disembodied voice carries on speaking just as they stepped into the sphere of illumination from the overhead lighting. "Does it make you feel that way too?"

And just like the beginning of a play, the light reveals the presence of my former lover - looking every inch the lover part.

God help me.

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I full on Hollywood-style gasp: the theatrical hands over mouth and widening of the eyes thing, "What the hell are you doing here?"

But then I remember I'm supposed to be angry and hurt, so match my inflection just so and repeat, "What are you doing here?"

Because that's what I am: hurt and angry and most of all royally pissed off…and not at all star-struck by Alex and her leathered up body. Of course not.

Virgos evidently had a thing for stars - well I'm a Gemini and it seems I had a thing for dark-haired, bespectacled ass-folk who had ego issues. Definitely something I had missed in the astrology section of this week's New York Times.

"I've come to see you of course." She lights a cigarette, eyeing me from above her glasses, like I'm nuts for even questioning her uninvited presence.

I glare at her. She's the one who's nuts. Not me. She's as nutty as they come. More nutty than a Snickers bar.

"What exactly are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was just in the area and thought to pop my head in." She says with a brazen wave of the hand.

"In your blacked out chauffeur driven Mercedes and parked in a half-lit backstreet? You couldn't have been more subtle even if you tried."

"You're lucky the helicopter is out for repairs so had to make to do with this instead." Alex glances back, her lips segueing into a grin.

I'm finding it really hard to stay angry at her.

You do know that the last thing I said was to go fuck yourself?"

"Oh, it hadn't been a loving goodbye? My bad."

"And that you were…are an arrogant asshole?"

"Heard it loud and clear, unfortunately."

"And that we're not talking terms?"

She closes the gap between us, walking toward me with graceful long strides, before she softly speaks, "And that's what I've come to fix." She waves at her chauffeur to get back into the car. Alex throws the cigarette away, and lifts her gaze to meet mine. This time she does away with the dark humour - her painted on smile straightening into a serious line, the twinkling in her eyes vanishing. "Look Piper. I'm sorry okay?" She glances back, before looking at me again. "I was stupid and rash and hell out of order…so I'm here to apologise for my wrongdoings and general bullshit."

My throat suddenly narrows itself, my heart repositioning itself close to my chest wall, as though it was somehow trying to reach out. "Why the completely over the top reaction then?"

Alex runs a hand through her hair, letting out a weary sigh. "I had a fling with a woman I met at a work-related gala eons ago. I liked her, and I thought she liked me. It turns out she liked my business plans more."

I can't help but notice the still lingering hurt swimming in Alex's eyes and it has me fervently wishing I could wipe it away.

"She siphoned all the data from my computer with a USB stick she brought when she came round mine one night…so you can understand my overreaction, which obviously still doesn't excuse anything."

Alex falls silent, her hands clasped tightly in front, constantly fidgeting with her knuckles, weaving her fingers in and out of each other.

"That's where I must have gone wrong…should've brought a USB stick with me. Rookie error." I softly joke.

"Total computer newbie." Alex chuckled, a trace of hard-won relief rolled within it. She turns serious again, tentatively tracing her fingers over my hand. "I figured I'd be pretty dumb to throw away what we have. It's honestly worth too much for me."

I swallow back a sudden lump. "Me too."

Alex squeezes my hands and laughs softly. "Me too what? To being dumb or?"

"To both."

Silence breaks in. It seems lightyears before Alex speaks again. "Am I officially forgiven or what?" She grins. "Or do I have to grovel some more?"

"You're officially forgiven, you idiot." I arch forwards and place my lips over hers, sealing my statement with a soft kiss. I couldn't help it but I throw my arms around hers, bringing us together for a hug.

We're still hugging each other tightly when I whisper into Alex's ears. "Okay but when I finish work you have to take me for a spin in that to die for limo."

Eventually breaking apart, Alex leans back her lips dancing with mirth. "I thought you'd never ask."

I glance back at the sleek car with its equally sharp chauffeur at the helm and smile. "Was this Plan B in case the sorrys hadn't worked? Entice me with your riches?"

"How else? And if that hadn't worked I would have lured you in with the mention of the chilled in-house champagne. Specially reserved for the travelling lady."

"You really know your way into my liquor blessed heart."

"The mixed margarita is already waiting for you at mine."

I scoff lightheartedly. "So you knew I was going to forgive you?"

"Nope - I just covered for all eventualities. If you said no, I would still have plenty of great alcohol to drown my sorrows in."

"Smartass."

"Some would say I'm a forward thinker."

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"Did you really mean that?"

"Mean what?"

I was sat on the floor of Alex's bedroom, my back facing the bed, neatly nestled between her legs. She'd been busy braiding my hair for the last fifteen minutes and doing a fucking bad job at it too. For something with so many girlish connotations as braiding, Alex sure was keen to embrace that side of hers. I'd conceded though, clearly I didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise and so let her continue the assault on my hair.

"You know...when you called me your girlfriend?"

She stops and leans over me to reach for her cigarette. I tilt my head all the way back, watching her light it.

"You're going to break your neck if you keep doing that."

"I don't care. Just answer the question."

"Of course I meant it. What else would we be?"

"I don't know, friends with benefits?"

"Hmmm." Alex murmurs thoughtfully. "That would imply that everything about you is entirely beneficial which isn't strictly true. I mean you're possibly the most Parkslope narcissist I've ever met and don't even get me started on the dire state of your music collection. I would've asked you to give it away to charity but I'm not sure they accept noise pollution." She looks down at me, biting her lips with held in laughter. "So I had to disregard the friends with benefits label almost immediately." Alex manages to say all of this through a barrage of light punches.

"How about just friends then?"

Alex schools her face into one of disagreement "Do we make friendship bracelets for each other?"

"No."

"What have you named me in your phone contact list?"

"Uh just Alex?"

"No emoji hearts or some other sickly variation of my name?"

"No, of course not." I look at her quizzically. "Just Alex."

"Oh." Alex stops short, her eyes flicking away from me.

"What?" I fix her with a scrupulous stare. "Give me your phone! What the hell have you put me down as?"

I rush to my feet and grab for her phone rested on the bedside table. Alex goes after me but luckily I had a few feet head-start and swipe it just before she makes a lunge for it.

It's password locked but I manage to guess it on the first try: 0000

I knew Alex was too lazy to bother with something else.

"GreedyAsshole1" I read out loud. "I'm offended."

"No that's my landlord dumbass." She says between puffs of smoke. "Keep scrolling."

"GreedyAsshole2?"

"Those are the Internet people." Alex sighs brazenly.

"GreedyAsshole3?" I'm having to hold in my laughter. "How many assholes do you know that do not include yourself and more importantly how do you remember who is who?"

"What can I say?" She flicks the cigarette ash into the tray. "I must have been blessed with photographic memory."

I keep scrolling, finding unlikely entertainment in her contacts list; my eyes catching on some very colourful names. But then my fun is cut short when my eyes hone in on one particular name.

"Trashgirl?" I hold the phone out accusingly. "What the fuck, Alex? I didn't make that much of a deal about your trash issues for you to amount me to that?"

"Relax, that's one of the girls I went to high-school with." Alex simply shrugs as though that was the whole explanation, even though it literally added nothing to my question.

"And?"

"And I was forced to attend my high school reunion a year back, and we must have got on really well because we exchanged number, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what her name was so went with her most memorable quality." Alex side eyes me conspiratorially. "She was the other kind of trash."

Two important things we have to lay ground on:

1\. Alex was never forced into anything.

2\. Why am I feeling an odd sense of jealousy toward a non-threatening ex-high-schooler nicknamed trash girl?

"Did you keep in contact with her?" I ask in my most airy and non-questioning question ever.

"Did I sleep with her? If what that's what you're asking, then no." Alex throws me a haughty grin.

Acting all indignant, I purse my lips and respond pertly, "I wasn't."

(but it would've answered my next question)

Vaguely reassured, I carry on scrolling, actually concerned for whatever label I've been reduced to myself. I mean the possibilities were virtually endless.

"Oh my god, how slow are you?" Alex snatched the phone out of my hand, scrolled some further and pointed the screen at me. "There just Piper"

I pretend not to be overly relieved and render my face into a whatever expression.

"Anyway, so back to relationship labels; we're not friends or ones with benefits…so I went with the more apt label of girlfriends."

"And you didn't even consider neighbours from hell?" I laugh.

"Although more accurate, too many syllables. I figured it had to be something short and snappy, so girlfriends will have to do for now." Alex lifts her gaze, her eyes warm and full of mirth. "Well that's until I think of an alternative label."

She resumes her braiding, but I've had enough.

Apparently we're girlfriends now and I'm pretty sure braiding is a best friends forever type pastime. I trace my hands over Alex's arms behind me, and I'm suddenly in the mood for more girlfriend-y type activities.

"Hey! I'm not finished yet!" Alex exclaims when I suddenly scramble to my feet and turn around, where I briefly catch my newly made hairdo in the mirror. I have to bite back an actual guffaw. I'm trying hard in keeping my expression neutral, even as a wave of laughter tugs my insides, hard.

I mean the hair was so atrociously bad it actually looked good? Which is an explicable paradox I don't think I can adequately explain. That's if Alex was aiming for the Miss Trunchbull from Matilda look or even worse; circa 2001 Jennifer Aniston (the bad year)

"Thank you, but I'm afraid braiding is not on the list of things that girlfriends do." I shake my head vigorously as I said this. My extension of that answer comes in the way of me climbing onto Alex's lap who just stares down at me expectantly, watching me straddle her just as I begin unbuttoning her shirt.

We've barely been wearing our clothes for all of twenty minutes and I mildly wonder why we even bothered getting dressed at all.

In my defence I have managed to keep my panties on for more than twenty minutes in any given twenty four hours - so I'm sorry - I deserve some ounce of recognition for exercising even the tiniest amount of discipline, thank you very much.

I start placing kisses all over her neck, delicate ghost of kisses that served to make my intentions very clear. Alex shifts under my weight and I can practically feel her getting turned on; her quickening heartbeat thrumming under my lips, pulse point flickering away erratically at the hollow of her throat.

I'm oddly proud of my doings.

"I feel like I have to properly try out this new label of ours." I draw my face into one of deep thought and roll the words around my tongue. "And I'm positive braiding definitely isn't part of it."

"It's not?" Alex murmurs amused.

"A big definite no." I cock my head to one side. "I mean just talking even, is such a platonic activity. Absolutely nothing girlfriend-centric about it."

I do away with my own top and unclasp Alex's bra, throwing it somewhere behind me before I resumed my kisses. My hands are lost in her hair, the glasses knocked off carelessly. Alex grabs hold of me and lies back onto the bed, taking me with her, our chests pressed together. Mouths find each other again, the kisses even more sizzling than the previous few hundred occasions.

"Hmmm. I definitely agree with you there. Talking is pretty overrated."

"Sitting on an actual bed and just talk?" I scoff theatrically. "That's criminal in my books."

"Offensive."

"Downright rude."

Alex was hot (we kinda already knew that) but I'm talking new levels of fuck I've just burned myself with a goddamn iron hot or I've just got blown into a star about to enter its supernova phase and I'm conveniently lost within it. The good hot kind, if there ever was one. I could give you every single hot analogy I have, but we'd be here all day, and Alex is sort of of sexing me up at the moment so...

Her skin is flushed and burning in all the right ways, sending me into my usual frenzy of wanting more more more. I'd always clocked relatively low on the Kinsey scale but after seeing her in that particular choice of clothes or lack thereof now I am now a higher dimension of gay that no scale could conceivably contain.

I drew my head back for a millisecond, just to catch my breath but Alex takes advantage, craning forward and thrusting her tongue into my mouth, her hands roaming voraciously over the fabric of my bra. And what had always seemed underrated as to its appeal, now made absolute, perfect sense. It was a precedent. A promise. What Alex was doing with my mouth and lips was what she'd be doing elsewhere. Jesus Christ.

"Jeans or bra, choose."

"But I still have my shoes on." I protest.

"I'll take care of that." Alex says smoothly her eyes drilling into mine.

"But they're strap ons."

"Kinky."

"That's not what I meant." My face must've turned into its usual shade of scarlet when I suddenly reminisce over Polly's rather intrusive question of myself and Alex's Fifty Shades of Grey parallels, particularly the part where Alex may or may not be into all the kinky stuff.

All that is disintegrated when Alex's wanton gaze captures mine with such sudden intensity, it has me rethinking all of the aforementioned.

Fifty grades of getting laid more like. And we all know which one I'd rather read or experience in this instance.

"You still have both your jeans and bra on."

"Sorry, I wasn't aware I was being timed."

"Your sarcasm never fails to turn me on."

I'm about to roll my eyes, when I'm suddenly hit with a wicked streak. Ruffling out of my jeans I pull back from the bed and stand up, surveying my would be conquests with nefarious abandon. "You know it's about time I'm the one who takes the lead in these strictly non-platonic activities of ours."

"Oh yeah?" Alex chuckled darkly.

"Totally."

I take my jolly ol' time in removing Alex's jeans. Her breath shuddered out, the cocky glean in her eyes quickly replaced with a vulnerable want when she realised I was completely and deadly serious. I crawl onto the bed, draping myself over her again, raining warm kisses all over neck and jaw: it's my starting point for the eventual southwards journey I was going to embark on.

"You know." I let out an ensconced sigh. "I've always had a thing for things that come in twos. I think it's the inner maths whizz kid in me."

With slow deliberate moves I trace the outline of Alex's nipple with the tip of my tongue, suckling and lapping away at my heart's content, languidly alternating between the two. My mouth is quickly replaced by my more deft fingers who continued to massage and knead.

"I can't hear any cocky comebacks. Are you okay there?" (I couldn't resist. I mean for god's sake Alex fucking Vause had been rendered speechless. I need all the rapturous applause I could get for achieving this near impossible feat)

Of course, I don't wait for an answer, taking Alex's very audible gulp and taut neck muscles as one instead, and so I continue my descent into my newly found devilish behaviour.

My hands slowly ran down her legs, then back up again, casually avoiding her inner thighs.

"Piper…" Alex's breathing was all ragged and laborious. I could only imagine the amount of willpower it took for Alex not to push me off and devour me like a piece of chocolate cake. My heart swells with so much pride.

I do my best seductive growl and abruptly place my hands over her abdomen, lazily tracing my fingers over her navel — every now and again letting them slip under the band of her panties — never staying there for long before returning to more safer grounds.

Of course, Alex was probably pushed into another dimension, her chest rising and falling in rapid progression. "So help me god…if you don't fucking do this. I'm going to-"

"So aggressive." I purred. "Just relax and take it all in." I punctuated this with popping my fingers in my mouth and very deliberately lapping my tongue over them before tracing them from her navel down, leaving a glistening trail of moistness behind. All the way down.

My fingers make a brief pit stop at Alex's inner thigh, knowing that this would surely send her over the edge. There was a very real possibility of me being killed tonight.

"Jesus Fucking Christ. Piper you fucking-"

"Alex Alex Alex. You always say the sweetest things." I run my hands through her hair in mild strokes. "Isn't it about time you cleaned out that dirty mouth of yours?"

My fingers slowly disappear under her panties, my index and middle fingers burying themselves in Alex's centre, rubbing and flicking and thrusting.

God fucking dammit. I felt so powerful, watching Alex writhe under my touch made my own pulse roar wildly inside my head. My hips bucked involuntarily against her, Alex's flexed abdominal muscles rippling underneath me.

And what an erotic sight it was to behold.

Leaning down, I hiss into her ear. "Does that feel good, hmmm? Just like that?" I nipped her earlobe with my lips just as the rate and pace of my fingers increased, insanely pleased at the sheen of sweat that began to form over her brow.

"For the love of god." Alex pleaded breathlessly — but to me it sounded more like a beg. (I like to extrapolate a lot)

"Do you want me to stop?"

Wow. I really was a bad girl, unleashed from her dormant state to inflict this upon the both us. I'm loving every second of it, apparently my quest for power was unquenchable.

"Piper, fuck. If you do…I'll-"

That was my finger pumping a little bit more deeper and more firmly and full of tease.

I could press my thumb right against that spot and finish her off, but I liked seeing her this way for just a little longer. After all, how often will I be granted this opportunity of watching Alex beg for mercy? Rare, I tell you.

"Do. You. Want. Me. To. Stop?"

"No."

"What?"

"Nooo"

"I can't quite…" I moved my hands more deeper into her recesses. "…hear you."

"Piper." Alex whispers, her voice all hoarse and barely heard over the heat blasting through my body. Her hands were gripping the back of my neck, pulling me closer to her face.

I grant her momentary reprieve.

Our mouths crash against one another once more, the kisses rapt and intense, full of movement and a wanton energy. Even I couldn't wait any longer, her hot breath sending all my nerve-endings into a fevered meltdown.

"These will have to go." I snarled, suddenly rearing up and pulling her panties off in one graceful sweep. My mouth plowed into her warmth. God, I could smell the arousal to the point where I release a throaty moan of my own. A cataclysm of lust shattering my breathing.

"Piper, please."

My tongue lapped and teased and licked, pushing Alex higher and higher. Her fingers were trussing up my hair, pulling them at the roots just as I finally send her flying.

"Just fucking end me!"

I could feel her grip the bedding around us, heels digging into the mattress as her back arched backward and her head flung back in a sweep of ecstasy. With a final groan, Alex fell back onto the bed, just laying there breathing like she'd just ran a mile.

I flop backwards onto the floor, my own head still spinning, riding high off my accomplishments

"You're a fucking minx, Piper Chapman." Alex eventually mutters, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, eyes flickering with newly found astonishment.

"I just wanted to return the favour." I say in my sweet innocent voice.

"Appalling behaviour." Alex chuckles.

She holds a proffered hand out for me, beckoning me back onto the bed.

"Again?"

Oh god. I don't think I've got enough gas in the tank for any more rounds."

"Me either."

"If I knew this is what you were going to be like I would have topped my reserves right to the brim." She eyes me up and down and seems to revoke that thought. "Actually I don't think even that would've been enough."

Her fingers gently run through my hair. I'm enjoying the haphazard way Alex messed up my hair, braid and all.

"And I didn't even get to to finish doing your hair." She murmurs disappointingly.

Which is just as well, I'm itching to undo the half-finished abomination that rested on top of my head.

An A class charmer and mega-flirt Alex was, but hair braider she was not.

I lazily run my fingers through her hair just as she leans forward and delivers a gentle kiss full of affection.

I'll take the former, the latter I can learn to live with.

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It's the second time I'm riding pillion on a motorbike that was doing at least thirty miles above the speed limit, hurtling us across the interstate that was headed out of New York City.

I'm clutching on for dear life as a thousand different scenarios of bike-related injuries loop around my head.

Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes? Why did I say yes?

Because, Alex Vause. Duh.

(I feel like in the future, every time I re-evaluate any bad life decisions, my answer would always be in the form of those two words.)

My hands are encircling the waist of a leather-clad Alex as greenery and grey buildings whizzed past us. It seems a precarious perch to me sat back here, with nothing but my fearful grasp holding me in place. Already the adrenaline was coursing unchecked, reminding me yet again of my foolish life decisions.

Alex assures me that as long as I hold on, I should be fine. Truly stellar advice that was quickly forgotten every time my knees nearly skimmed the road surface whenever we took a sharp turn or a hair breadth away from becoming flush with car doors as we filtered through queues of traffic at ridiculous speeds.

"You alright back there?!" Alex's muffled voice just about reaches my own helmet covered ears.

"Great!"

If 'great' meant I'm going to be fucking sick and the only reason I have not yet done so is because I don't want to ruin your criminally sexy leather jacket, then 'great' sounds just about right.

We've soon left the narrow roads of downtown Manhattan, now riding through vast spaces of open green fields and plains. "Hold on! We're nearly there!"

I'm busy cursing the person who planned these roads just as we took another near impossible ninety degree turn, my world tilting perilously. But thankfully, we turn upright again in the very last second.

I grip on tighter to Alex, feeling her chest rise up and down, my hands flush against her and finding unlikely comfort.

Okay, maybe the ride wasn't that bad.

After a few minutes we slow down and finally come to a full stop. Alex helps me get off the bike, her hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me forward. It's a surprisingly affectionate gesture on her part and I'm beginning to think that all this assshole-ish behaviour must be one big elaborate front.

But then she shatters all that in a matter of milliseconds.

"I'm so sorry." She says between barely contained laughter. "But you look like a fucking raccoon that's been dragged under a car. Twice for good measure."

I'm too busy thanking the lord for allowing me to come off this ride in one piece, to even acknowledge that particularly colourful description. "You really know how to make a girl feel good."

My hair had been messed around from my helmet and I quickly try and muss it back to its original non-raccoon like state. Alex slowly walks up to me and helps place the last strands of hair back into their rightful position.

An out of nowhere shiver of want suddenly skitters through me, as I savour the feel of her fingers lightly dancing through my hair. It's enough to make me take an involuntary step back.

"There, back to your beautiful self again." Alex declares, punctuating it with a soft kiss to the cheek.

Welcome to Dryden National Park

Please do not feed the animals and enjoy the view

There was that view: faraway mountains majestically rising above the horizon, their snow covered tips like icing dusted on cake. While ancient oaks trees with their magnificent and statuesque presence dominated the awesome vista of nature that was presented before us.

And then there was that other view, and just as the sign advised I was enjoying it immensely.

Throughout my path of self discovery, I have recently learned there's something about tight leather and toned limbs that really kickstarted my heart into the highest gear of gay.

Oh and the mountains weren't too bad either.

Alex turns around and tilts her head. "It's beautiful isn't it?"

"Absolutely." I say with possibly the most conviction I've ever harnessed.

It turns out Alex was quite the naturist. Not the nudist sort, mind. But the kind that were really in touch with nature. I surmised this quickly when I watched her talk animatedly about the history and hidden views the place had. She guided me through well worn paths, along mountain sides and led us on a surprisingly enjoyable hike through dense forestry. We lazily sauntered across panoramic plains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Alex knew a lot of about Dryden and I figured this must be a place she had frequented often.

Who knew a dry-witted motorcycle riding wiseacre with the world's gayest dress sense would love trees and be so nature savvy? Odds would speak and say that was going to be me - minus the dry-wit, motorcycle and asshole personality of course.

In a strange roundabout way it made me like her even more.

We reached an open space amongst the forestry where Alex lights a campfire with surprising expertise. She's brought marshmallows as well, complete with scavenged branches as makeshift skewers.

For something so inherently American; I have never actually partaken in the whole sitting around campfire, eating hot s'mores tradition. Polly's words come echoing back to me - she was right - Alex was debunking my boring routine of a life, introducing to me things I'd never thought of embarking on, always citing my too busy work/life schedule as a poorly veiled excuse.

"Where do we sit?" I ask.

"Here." Alex points at a felled tree stump that looks like it might be harbouring more than just a few insects.

Not wanting to make my lack of outdoor experience obvious, I hesitantly sit down but not before I wipe the surface in a lacklustre attempt at trying to clean out nature.

"You're going to need a bigger bucket and a whole lot of bleach if you want to clean up the entire forest."

Alex turns back to the fire, skewering a marshmallow and holding it over the flames.

I find myself finally unwinding, the rhythmic crackling of the flames lulling me into a state of calm. I'm in awe of the the tall poplar trees surrounding us, our little oasis in the midst of the woods.

Alex nudges me, "For starters I offer milady a taste of the finest fire roasted marshmallow."

Smiling, I take it with exaggerated primness, "Hmmm." I murmur as I take a bite. "Firm and soft on the inside. Just how I like it."

Alex raises her eyebrow, skewering another one. "Wouldn't you have it, I like mine hot and dripping. It takes a special skill to make it just so."

We look at each other for a moment and burst out laughing.

We're quiet again, both of us watching the embers of desiccated wood shoot out every now and again, the intermittent croaks of nearby crickets punctuating the silence of the night.

"When do we get to the horror storytelling?" I ask jokily.

"Oh that? That's straight after we camp here for the night."

I swivel around. "Stay here? Tonight? You're joking right?"

"What?" She asks with a serious face. "Did you not bring your pyjamas and mosquito repellent?'

"Did you?"

"I don't need to, I'm practically immune to nature."

"I'm not carrying any other clothes?" I emphasise incredulously.

"You can sleep naked if you want. Really embrace nature and become one with it. It is quite liberating being so attuned to the elements." She regards me up and down. "And the sleeping naked thing…I don't mind at all."

"You're kidding. C'mon Alex, you're actually kidding?"

"One word of warning, it gets really cold at night here in the stark wilderness. I've got my blanket made of leaves and my trusty bamboo stitched pillow, what have you got?"

"Nothing."

Alex pauses, "I think we may be able to share, don't worry."

Just as a point of emphasis that I'm not at all equipped for the off-grid living experience; Mother Nature throws me her curveball.

No sooner had Alex finished speaking, I jump up - because a giant fucking beetle thing with at least a thousand legs ( I may be exaggerating) flies into my lap unannounced.

Lord have mercy: it was the winged variety as well, unleashed straight from the pits of bug hell.

"Good god!" I scream trying to flick it off without touching it.

Alex laughs just as she feeds the fire with more wood, looking entirely unbothered. "Humanity has lived several thousands of years peacefully coexisting with bugs and we're still doing just fine."

"Not when they're the size of my head!" I yell, fervently patting myself down in the fear beetle beast may have an accomplice.

"They're tiny."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I give Alex an are you crazy look. "These things are so big, they must have names and social security numbers and running their own successful businesses."

"Are you even listening to yourself?"

I am hugely aware I'm acting like a giant baby but there are mutant beetles roaming unrestrained in our immediate vicinity and I'm so not fine with that, even worse when I may have to share a sleeping space with them.

"You do know I'm kidding about the whole staying here when it gets dark thing? Like I know I'm quite spontaneous but even I have my boundaries."

"I just don't know what to believe anymore."

"Sorry I couldn't help myself."

I glance over at her, the slanting of dusk sunlight bathing her face in soft, warm hues. The sun had already started dipping below the distant horizon, teasing us with its orange ember glow. I'm suddenly struck with a strange sense of urgency of capturing this moment, not able to let it pass without somehow acknowledging it.

I look down at Alex's hand, neatly resting on the tree stump, when my own hands move off their accord, twirling them around hers. Alex doesn't look but responds by lightly rubbing her thumb over my knuckles in slow, soft circles.

I don't know whether it's the sunset making me feel all sentimental but I find myself thinking that I'd be perfectly content if I was forced to spend the rest of my life in this exact position, at this exact time, in this exact location with this exact person.

Alex's voice lifts me out of my thoughts. "You look about a thousand miles away."

"Just thinking."

"Good things?"

"Entirely good." I murmur shyly.

"All about me I hope?" Alex asks with a charmed smile.

"Maybe. Or maybe not."

Startled, I realise the sun had finally descended, reaching its final resting place, where it had been replaced with the soft and silvery glow of a crescent moon, bathing us in an almost spectre-like glow.

"God, you're looking so splendid tonight." Alex whispers into the dark, the orange-red crackles of our campfire reflected in her glasses. I could feel her sidling up beside me, her chin placed over my shoulder as she whispered into my ear. "Look up."

"If this another insect, Alex..so help me god."

"No scary beetles, I promise."

I tilted my head up, greeted by Alex playfully dangling a mistletoe between her fingers. She lifts her brows mischievously, "You know what to do."

"Did you find this here?" My lips are pursed but there's a smile waiting to burst out. "And also you do know it's not Christmas?"

"Yes to both questions and Pipes, since when is there a time restriction on the use of mistletoes?"

"Maybe there is."

"I declare that mistletoes can be used all year round."

"Well if you insist." I mutter coyly.

Alex tilts her head and leans toward me, but I'm already meeting her halfway, our lips coming together in a gentle embrace. This time it's much more tender, our eyes closed as we explore, give and take.

And damn damn her to hell… she knew how to kiss. The kind of kiss that once committed I couldn't just break away from.

"You're too good at this." I murmured into her chin, my heart doing cartwheels in my chest, as I relished in the warmth of Alex's body pressed against mine.

Her fingers trace the valley of my nape, the contact so delicate and soft, it was almost as though I was imagining it. After an age, my eyes flicker open, mouth slightly ajar, and there she: is front and centre, looking at me as though I was the only person left on this planet.

The mistletoe lay between us, long forgotten.

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	7. Honey, I'm caught up in your desire

[alex/atwood] missing me yet?

[p/chapman] so much self confidence so little tact

alex/atwood you seemed awfully tactful when you were screaming my name out last night ;)

[p/chapman] besides the point

[alex/atwood] done with work yet?

[p/chapman] currently slaving away in hot heat. I mean I don't even know where my clothes begin and my skin ends.

[alex/atwood] that's a nice visual

[p/chapman] prepare yourself…I'm scraping leftover turkey into an overflowing trash can

[alex/atwood] my god that's hot

[p/chapman] give it a rest. how are you?

[alex/atwood] the usual of filling out paperwork and fantasising of all the things I could do with trash cans and you

[p/chapman] the latter sounds horrific

[alex/atwood] don't insult if you haven't tried

[p/chapman] sounds like a logistical nightmare if you ask me

[alex/atwood] wait until you find out what you can do with just a whip and a jar of chocolate. the possibilities are virtually endless

[p/chapman] personally I prefer honey

[alex/atwood] I'll text you when I'm done which will give you just enough time to undress and stick a jar of honey in the microwave

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The next few days flew by in a haze of work and catching up with friends. I felt revived and reinvigorated already feeling the familiar dreamy of a smile make its way through as I thought of our nature rendezvous a few nights back. I was like a moth forever attracted to the fiery flames of Alex's charm and it didn't help when she kept texting me to remind of such.

I mean even my monthly phone call to mother had me not rip my hair out by the end of the conversation - instead I feigned signal difficulties and prematurely hung up. There's only so much commentary over the imminent demise of my eggs I could listen to - even Alex couldn't help with that.

Friday nights at work were one the worst days in the week, it's when the whole world decided it was time to abandon home-cooking and eat ready made food. Proof when I now found myself wrestling through a sea of bodies. Everyone wants to eat and everyone wants to eat now. It was an assault course made of hungry humans and trays stacked with delicately placed food.

"Chapman, you're about three orders behind!"

"I asked my steak to be well-done, this is so raw it's practically mooing."

"Was I speaking Chinese when I said gluten-free bread?"

"Spillage at table four!"

blah blah and blah

Keep on smiling - just like water off a duck's back.

Comments like this would have had me cowering away, cursing profanities under my breath but now I show off my best dainty smile and just crack on with it. Red could send me the entire Chinese army, all with various food allergies and specific demands to make my brain go loopy and it still wouldn't dent my shield of happiness.

As much as I gripe about work, there's no fighting off the joy when a patron compliments me on my impeccable waiting skills or when one of the waiters I'm managing insists on covering my last half hour of shift because I've been so attentive and patient with them. It's one of the few times in the year where I feel incredibly privileged to be part of a largely thankless profession.

"Poussey! Where's my order for table three?" I shout through the window.

Poussey tosses me a look, "What the fuck are you on?"

"What?"

"You're not four orders behind, your hair's doesn't look like you've been hit by lightning and you ain't crying."

Okay, is that how bad I looked on a normal day? I shrug her comments off and flip her the bird instead, "Just do your job and get me my order."

"I'll have to thank your motorbike gal later for turning you into an actual functioning human."

"Nothing to do with her." I retort.

"As much truth in that as Nichols claiming she used to be a church-going debutante."

A voice speaks up behind me, "I was a church-going debutante in theory. Little does mother know her brilliant daughter was smoking up weed underneath the bleachers and getting herself touched up by Liv from the soccer team. Ah those were the days."

Nicky sidles up beside me, her mouth drawn into a lopsided grin and inexplicably winking at me while watching me try and carry a particularly precarious prawn and roquette salad. "I'll have what you're having, Chapman.

I'm beginning to think Nichols has me tagged because she always seems to pop up when I least expect it. It's not like we even worked the same patch or had the same shifts which made it all the more disconcerting.

"She's on some happy pill, Nicks or she's started doing drugs."

"Somehow I can't quite envisage our Piper rolling a spliff - it would just clash with her uptight all american thing she's got going on."

"Funny that, marijuana increases the risk of a decrease in IQ, seems like you're already affected, Nichols." I throw back.

Nicky taps me on the forehead, "I have just watched you with my own eyes not even bat an eyelid when that screamy brat at number ten hurled his bowl of spaghetti at you. Exactly what are you taking?

"I guess I'm just much more tolerant than you." I say airily passing my tray onto a young waiter.

Nicky seems to think I'm speaking straight out of my ass because she laughs and scoffs, "Says the girl who complains hours on end when a customer even dares to ask for a serviette…give me a break you'd have been all over that boy any other day."

I stop what I'm doing for a second, "Are you saying I'm a violent person?"

"No what I'm saying is that you've practically been hopscotching around the place a maniacal smile plastered over your face…it's scaring us all."

"Uh huh. Truly scary." Poussey nods.

Clearly my post-Alex was high was drawing way too much attention, and I make a mental note to reel in the giddy smile whenever my co-workers were in close sight.

"Can't I just be happy for no other reason than being happy?"

God that sounded like a soundbite out of a really bad acted high school play.

Nicky shakes her head, "At least try and make it sound convincing, Chapman. It's offensive how poor of an effort you're making."

I grab another order more firmly than necessary hoping that she got the giant non-subtle I don't want to speak to you about my near death experience last night courtesy of my skilful girlfriend nay sex artiste today or ever.

"Do you want me to tell you about my night?"

Clearly she was blind to social cues.

"Not particularly no."

"We're all friends here, Pipes."

I don't care how close we are as friends here or that we have both bonded in the midst of Red's many verbal torrents - there are two universal truths here : I would never ever divulge anything of a remotely personal things to Nicky nor would I ever begin to even imagine said things to be ever kept under wraps.

"Ah!" She points her index finger up in the air, "Your rocker girlfriend has been experimenting with you and she's hit the jackpot?"

"What the fuck, Nicky." I gasp out in horror and disgust.

"What I wouldn't do to feel those-"

I release a sigh more powerful than a Dyson fan and swivel around, "Fine! I spent most of my night getting fucked senseless and you know what? It was so fucking great I'm probably going to do it all over again tonight!"

My temporary self-satisfied grin segues into legitimate horror when I realise the rest of the gang walk in at the exact moment I declare this sordid information

"Wow, P." Taystee exclaims, wide eyed.

"Colourful description albeit graphic." Brooke Soso deadpans.

"Who needs dildos to get turned on when you've got Piper and her mouth." Poussey laughs hysterically.

"Fuck Chapman, can I join in? You make for such a compelling experience." Nicky laughs, holding her sides in between loud snorts.

"You're digging yourself a hole here." I add, belatedly realising I'm on a train that has careened off its tracks and is now hurling over the giant cliff face that was my massive, stupid, filterless mouth. Mostly stupid.

She's obviously left the best until last, "I'm so glad there's at least one hole getting some action round here."

.

.

.

Speaking of holes...

A subway journey that should have taken half hour had just taken me over two hours, add to that, it nearly cost me my sanity as well.

I'm maximal levels of irritation and minimal levels conscious. I could just about become one with my bed. I'm fumbling with the keys of my door when it suddenly swings open.

"Fuck!" I yelp, jumping into a commando stance, key in hand as a makeshift weapon. "I'm armed!"

"Woah! Steady on!" I'm greeted by Alex standing in front of me, her shoulders jerked upward in surprise, "Enough with the ninja pose already."

I stand up straight and meet her gaze, "How the hell did you even get in?"

Not that I remotely cared. All I could hone in on and was that Alex was here in the flesh and within touching distance.

"I scaled the drainpipe outside and somersaulted in via the window."

I raised my eyebrows, "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Your door was open."

"So you thought you should make yourself at home?"

"I saw it as making sure nobody broke in and heaven forbid stole your collection of Harry Potter DVDs." A grin adorned her face "All sorts of unsavoury characters around these days."

"Thanks, I think."

She walks up to me and gently takes my coat off, fingers lightly brushing against my neck. Looking at those hands, the very hands that were on me in a very pronounced way a few nights before. I'd be lying if I wasn't already wishing we skipped all this preamble and followed up with part deux.

But my legs feel like they're going to collapse from underneath me, the last remnants of subway horror still reverberating inside my head.

"Ugh, I feel like I've ran a double marathon." I moan, my hands are already reaching out, "I need a good hug."

Alex walks up to me, and wraps her arms around my waist, my own strewn over her neck, "Hmmm, that feels so good." I murmur into her neck. "You smell like lovely flowery detergent meanwhile I smell like half of New York's unwashed vagrant population."

She kisses me on the side of the head. "Long day huh?"

"Too long." I sink further into the warmth, letting my body sag and muscles loose.

We stand like that for a couple of minutes, before I finally force myself to let go not wanting the moment to end.

Alex returns holding out a glass of wine and a winning smile that melted away the very last of my stress and fatigue.

"A glass of the lady's favourite wine." She proclaims.

I'm eyeing her suspiciously albeit taking the proffered glass.

"What's the occasion?"

"No occasion." She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, "I'm just really happy to see you - is that such a bad thing?"

"You see me nearly every day, Al." I mutter between wine-soaked kisses.

"It's my day off tomorrow and I'm just more happy to see you knowing I can ravage you up for two whole days."

"Sounds like a productive forty-eight hours if you ask me."

I plop onto the sofa dragging Alex down with me, wine sloshing all over the place but truly not caring - I had other things to take care of. "Tell me about your day."

"Just doing my thing in that ivory tower of mine."

"You're such a snob, Ms Atwood."

Alex crinkles her nose, "God, I hate that name."

"Imagine how conflicted I am when your email reads Alex Atwood and I open up its contents to see something entirely unbusinesslike."

"Did you like the picture?" Alex chuckles, her face proud and expectant. "It's my best angle."

"Your best angle was nearly witnessed by Nichols." I shudder, as I remember innocently opening up the attachment and nearly going into a full of cardiac arrest.

"There's plenty more where did that came from."

"A disclaimer would be nice next time."

"What? And spoil the fun?"

She sidles up to me, sporting a smile that told me I wasn't going to be clothed for very long, " Also you've got something on your face."

"Where?" I start wiping my face at random.

"Just there."

I wipe some more, "Has it gone?"

"No, a little more to the left."

She comes even closer, taking her time to inspect my face, hers so close to mine I'm having to squint my eyes.

"Don't move." Her hand reaches out, her fingers gently grazing my lips.

I wasn't planning on moving anyway, my ass was currently rooted to the sofa - I may or may not have become one with the fabric.

"Hmmm" She ponders in complete exaggeration "What are we going to do?"

My mind's already fraying, "I'm sure there are other ways you can think of."

"So many ways." Her face came back to mine, lips ghosting over mine, delicately, gently. My eyes fluttered shut, my entire body engulfed with so many sensations as our lips crashed against one another.

My hands moved from my lap and burrowed themselves in her hair before sliding downwards coming to a rest at her nape.

"Can't quite seem to get it off..." Alex murmured against my lips, her eyes low and crowding with lust.

"I guess you just have to keep...trying."

I threw my arms around her neck and lowered her down to me, planting open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and wherever I could access really.

"So stubborn just like you." She whispered, so quietly I could barely hear her over my low-sounding groans. Her hands unhurriedly unbuttoned my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders as our rhythm began to segue from slow and teasing to frantic and dangerous.

Alex's hands sneaked around my front, lightly scraping along my breastbone, too close to places that harboured possibly half of my body's nerve endings and then some.

My hands anchored themselves around her neck just as her own skated over the fabric of my bra causing every neuron to come alive, superseding every pleasurable feeling I've had up until now.

I'm on top of the world or at the edge of it or just about to fall off it.

I don't know.

All I do know is that my dress has been hiked up, deft fingers triggering shockwaves in my centre. My eyes flew open as a very specific warmth began to travel through me.

"Can't quite seem to get it off which unfortunately means I have to carry on."

I think I murmured something that resembled okay or it may have been fucking do it and do it fucking fast. The operative word being fucked. Argh.

I dry-swallow as Alex swallows me up with her ruinous lips.

I'm granted my wish of being thoroughly cleaned up nay wrecked.

With almost loving precision, Alex hooked her thumb beneath my panties and dragged them down my legs. She momentarily leant back and climbed out of her own clothes, which caused an involuntary gasp to emit from my throat.

She gazed at me for a moment, maybe even just a few minutes but it felt like an entire lifetime, "Now where's the honey?"

I exhale a breath I hadn't realised was being held. "I thought you'd never ask."

Alex's face stretches into a mischievous smirk while I'm smiling like a girl who'd just been handed a lifetime supply of candy all at once.

I could get used to this.

.

.

.

Apparently that aforementioned cliff face was only the prelude to my week that had started off so well because a hand suddenly appears midair, clamps itself around my arm, and drags me forward along the hallway.

I'm practically being frog-marched along the corridor toward the back of Haven and before I figure out whether I'm in real danger or just on the receiving end of an over-enthusiastic greeting, I find myself semi-slung in a tiny broom closet with Red's face no less than an inch away from my own.

Her eyes are darting wildly over my face, her lips pursed into near nothingness and every muscle in my body is screaming me at me to retreat but not possible by said six by six feet closet. It's all very clandestine, the place is barely lit, the shadows cast over Red making her appear about ten more scarier, which is no mean feat. I feel like a prized piece of game she's just caught and fearfully waiting for her to decide where she's going to deliver the first cut.

"Did you do it?"

Her context-less question makes me momentarily wonder what on earth she's talking about but then she follows it up with, "Your Excelsior girlfriend?"

"I haven't had a chance…I haven't really found the right time to ask."

That feeling of wanting to jump out of my skin overwhelms me for a second when I flash back to Alex catching me red-handed nosing through her laptop — and what made the whole thing worse was having to constantly relive her dead cold stare as I tried to explain away with my pathetic ramblings.

"What have you been doing for these past few weeks?"

Sleeping, eating, getting laid…you know the usual.

"God fucking dammit, Chapman. Time is money - take your goddamn love glasses off and do what I told you."

"I don't want-"

I'm in a confined space with my Russian boss and all I can think of right now whether I'll be leaving it alive or not. So I changed my response and mumble. "You can count on me, boss."

She watches me, unblinking for a drawn out time. I'm having the uncomfortable thought Red was doing some kind of mental maths - dividing and multiplying and square-rooting just how how much I'm actually worth her troubles. Based on the less than infamous figure I've portrayed so far, I wouldn't bet on the answer being remotely positive.

"Actions speak louder than words, Chapman. And you've written me a novel on how much you want this job so far. I want the action now."

God, could she give it an actual rest?

She softens her expression and places her hands on my shoulders, "Look Piper, you're talented and are a quick learner but sometimes you can be as smart as a mule."

Red seems to have realised that threats and vague indications of violence may not be the only way in reaching solutions. Whether she was genuine or not was something I'm having trouble discerning.

"I build this place up from nothing." She pierces her eyes into mine, inching even closer to me. "Back when you were a little speck in your mother's womb I was already planning the birth of my own baby: Haven."

"Right."

She suddenly tilts back and leans against the wall as though all the energy has left her, "I haven't told the others this but we're struggling."

Relief momentarily dampens down my surprise: so we're in this broom closet because she doesn't want the others catching wind of Haven's possible downfall rather than it being the ideal place to dispose a body of.

Thank the lord.

"Struggling how much?"

She mutters something in Russian. "Let's just say I've made more money selling my Maria and Olga back in motherland than we made in profits last month."

I'm almost too scared to ask, "Maria?"

"My beloved cows." She clutches her chest, eyes glazed over with nostalgia, "They were so good to me."

"I'm sorry to hear." I murmur, trying to figure out if there's even scope for condolences.

"Don't you apologise." She hisses at me. " People make sacrifices all the time and now it's your turn, Chapman."

.

.

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.

.

.

"Here!"

I'm greeted by Polly doing a vague reenactment of a traffic officer hit with a bad case of Parkinson's, arms waving all over the place, an interesting way to try and catch my attention and apparently so thought the middle-aged couple walking by.

Like I could even miss her considering she was wearing a flowery dress that screamed I'm a middle-class thirty-something year old woman who doesn't care about conventional dress sense.

"Dude, I'm here!"

She's already ordered coffee for both of us meaning I can forgive her for all of the above.

"Hey, Pol"

No sooner had I declared my presence, she looks up and jumps out of the chair, nearly knocking me backward from the force of her hug.

"Oh my god you recognised me!" She lets me go and takes a step back, surveying me all over, making me feel slightly self-conscious.

I mean I know we haven't seen each other for just over a month, but surely I haven't changed that much nor had she?

"I'm going to have to hail this as the miracle of 2016. You've been so busy with your new female beau I thought you'd erased me off your memory." She finishes, and sits back down.

Smiling I follow suit, "How could I ever forget you…what with your ample bosom and to die for eyes."

"Okay no. Stop."

"Too much gay?"

"All gay."

"I can't even compliment your looks for fear of you thinking I'm coming on to you? It's 2016, Pol."

"And?"

I'm stuttering for a response, because normally when people counter argue by emphasising the year, they normally won but I've failed to think through my defence strategy.

"And you're looking hot that's all. Minus the clothes but the face compensates for that."

She narrows her eyes, "Since when have you been so flirty?"

"C'mon don't be so against our pseudo-lesbian romance."

"Speaking of lesbians, does Miss Atwood even approve of open relationships?"

"You've literally got to stop calling her that." I sighed wearily.

"A lesbian?"

"No Atwood."

"Okay fine, you probably have a million nicknames for her anyway." She waves her hand nonchalantly. "Also...has she invited you to her offices yet?"

"Why would I want to go there?"

"Duh."

"If this is your fifty shades fantasy again I swear I'm-"

"Oh please like you haven't thought it."

"I'm not going to base my relationship on a film that's about as erotic as watching a Donald Trump rally."

I take a sip of my coffee and sit back, basking in the sudden ray of sunshine that appeared behind the clouds.

"A lot of wrist action?"

"Huh?" I halt my rubbing.

Polly nods her head at my hand. "You keep touching your wrist."

"Oh." I shrug. "Probably a repetitive strain injury from…from…"

I'm blushing furiously when I catch her amused expression and mutter the last out in a jumble of syllables. "From carrying too many trays at work."

"Sweetie, I'm pained to say that makes no anatomical sense."

I have no alternative cause for my so called injury, ergo this conversation is closed.

But Polly reopens it again, "Alex doesn't happen to have also carried too many trays at work and suffered this unfortunate wrist problem?"

"No." I swallowed my coffee that was too hot and now instantly burnt off at least a quarter of my taste buds. I daren't look up and meet Polly's most knowing of know it all grins occupying most of her face.

"Anyway, how long have you know her now?"

"Couple of months"

"I've had cheese in my fridge for longer than that."

Lately I've had the feeling that all Polly's comments to me are laden with strategic hints that really lack in the subtlety factor.

"I take it you don't approve?" I add a tinge of neutrality to veil the undercurrent of approval.

"Don't you think things are moving a little too fast?"

"Why do you think that?"

"Don't you remember Aaron and I - and how that ended up?"

"You dumped Aaron because you realised he was a douche who sold dope to children. Alex and I are nothing like that and also I can't even believe you're comparing her to that deadbeat asshole."

"I never told you but one of the deciding factors with Aaron was his unfortunate problem." Polly begins. "As well as the drug-dealing with minors of course." She adds almost as an afterthought.

"And?"

"His you-know was well below the American average."

"I could have carried on living not having to know about that ever."

"Add to that the issues of his little misshapen carrot not being able to…grow during…the right season. If you get my sense."

"Polly, seriously."

I was nearly about to shove sugar cubes into my ears, such was the emergency.

"It was problematic for both of us." She says with a straight face. "Anyway, like I said, I don't want you becoming unhappy."

"I'm not going to be unhappy."

"I hope so."

"Do you know what she did this morning?" I lean forward, totally serious.

"Make you orgasm six times in a row?"

"Seven times actually but that's besides the point — she made me breakfast in bed. If that's not relationship material I don't know what is."

Polly shakes her head, eyes full of incredulity. "Seven orgasms is relationship material, babes and for that alone she deserves a medal. I'm lucky if Pete even acknowledges my existence these days."

"You still with that loser?"

"Hey! He's a loser and a bad representative for Aussies but that's for me to decide."

"I don't think I've ever met him while he's been sober." I ponder out loud.

"I think I've genuinely forgotten what he is like when not falling all over the place and calling me love-button."

"Sorry."

"Yeah well enough about me...has your love of your life been put off by your foot in mouth disease yet?"

"Do we really have to keep talking about me, or Alex rather?"

"I've just told you about my alcoholic boyfriend, it's only fair." She says by way of explanation. "Plus, I'm not the one who's orgasming a ridiculous amount."

"And answer to your earlier question, no she hasn't. Not yet anyway."

"So she's totally fine with your great love for the insufferably gluten-free, Fairtrade, organic lifestyle you strive to lead?

I roll my eyes, "You make me sound like such a hipster."

"You're drinking almond infused coffee."

"So?"

"I'm so not even going to waste my breath."

"Whatever."

I'm so delightfully artisan, although I had no insight into this and thankfully Alex didn't seem to mind it either.

All I need is an Instagram shot of my Starbucks pumpkin-spiced latte with its Valencia filter, and I will have fully embraced my role of the ultimate 21st century WASP.

"Just be careful, yeah? I know her types."

"What? You mean Christian Grey types?"

"Now you're the one who's brought that up." She says smugly. "But seeing as you did, exactly those types is what I mean."

"I think you might be slightly unhinged, Pols."

"Your track record has been full of casualties and tears. I don't want to be picking up the pieces again."

"Thanks for your blessings." I add sarcastically.

She grabs hold of my hands, "Hey, you do know I'm just jealous of you and your obnoxious seven orgasms and also pissed I don't bat for the other team." Polly laughs.

That coaxes a smile out of me, "Honestly, Pols. I don't even know how she does it."

"Too much information." She points at my wrist. "You should give that a rest as well." And winks at me.

.

.

.

I glanced at my phone again, scanning it for any missed messages or calls.

Nothing.

We were supposed to meet up after work, Alex promising she'll pick me up from my apartment once I'd reached home.

That was supposed to have happened over an hour ago and truthfully I was beginning to grow frustrated and on the verge of feeling like someone who'd been stood up at a date.

Although I didn't want to seem overbearing, I was becoming a little concerned that she hadn't contacted me yet to let me know something else came up or she was going to be late or something at least.

Here I was sat on my own in my best dress, and no Alex to take me.

Deliberating, I picked up my phone again to call but then texted her instead.

It's when another good half hour drifted by, did I make my mind up, grabbed my bag and walked up to hers.

I knocked on the door three times, and waited. Play fair.

Another knock.

No answer

I try the handle but it's locked.

"Don't bother, she ain't home."

I jerk around, met by a man probably in his sixties pushing a bucket and mop.

"What?"

"There ain't nobody home. She gone a while back." He points with his mop at the exit for added emphasis.

"That can't be…because I was supposed to go with her." I lament as though this cleaner man would hold the slightest investment in my life woes. He clearly doesn't because he just shrugs his shoulders, "Too bad, 'cause she and some lady went off together."

I was in the process of fishing my phone out and about to call Alex when my brain stalls and stutters, a sort of dizzying energy suddenly blitzing through me and bringing my next words out in short, halting bursts.

"How long ago?"

"Half hour maybe." He cocks his head. "Lady, you okay?"

He must have either noticed the sudden tremor in my left hand that seemed to have developed or my imminently going to throw up expression…or both.

"I'm fine."

"They seemed well acquainted." He muses more to himself.

"Well acquainted?"

"Quite close."

"How old?"

"I didn't get a proper look."

"Just guess." I counter almost aggressively. Young, old, or old old."

"Old old?"

"I don't know greying, with a walking stick or something."

"I don't know mid-thirties maybe."

"What's she look like?" I asked the cold creeping from my hands into my arms.

I don't know why I'm subjecting myself to this torture - as though being blonde-haired as opposed to brunette would somehow alleviate my worries.

"Tall, dark hair, secretary glasses."

I hold back the sudden urge to kick his bucket over but managed to calm myself down, "The other one."

"Lady, are you a cop or something? Where's your badge?" He asks with narrowed eyes, jabbing a callused finger at me.

I hold my hands up. "No cop." (just a concerned citizen who needs to know what the fuck is happening…fast)

Mr Cleaner looks as though he's had enough of my interrogation or wasn't entirely convinced I wasn't a member of the law enforcement because he's already beginning to walk away.

"You wouldn't happen to know what direction they took?"

"I didn't ask because it's none of my business. You should try it sometime."

He flung open the hallway door, grunted and brushed past me.

I spent the next few hours in my apartment, listening out for any sounds of Alex returning, listening more carefully for any accompanying steps.

You're probably thinking why not just text or call? I grew up in a household where pain was maximised and simple things over-complicated - so I determinedly carry on with my one-man stake-out.

I'm not sure how long I could keep this up for when a new worrying thought smashes everything else out; what if she doesn't even return for the night?

What am I even doing?

I'm spiralling into a fit of neurotic and misguided behaviour, that's what.

A flash of lightning lights up the apartment, quickly followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The lights flickered for a second, then buzzed out. Next, my computer screen gave up on me as well as the sky opened up again, dumped vats of rain onto the world below.

I fix my already cold coffee and return to the kitchen island, sipping and staring into space, the gloom of the evening descending on me.

It occurred to me that I might be entirely wrong — surely, surely someone who held mistletoes above my head, kissed me goodnight, and gifts me out of the world sex would have at least a sliver of decency or grain or morality and not subject me to this borderline nightmare I'm currently in? But the swamp of doubt and betrayal I was wallowing in made that seem very remote.

I mean she was an exec - she probably spend most of her time fending and fighting off clingers on and infatuated women.

My ears prickle when a jangle of keys breaks the night silence, when a second later a door is slammed close.

My hearts picks up, my hands going clammy and fidgety.

I've been set in place for just under an hour that had ebbed slower than treacle, my neck was close to going into a permanent spasm while my legs felt achy and dead.

I'm realising I've not really thought this out properly; what exactly was I going to do once I'd confronted her? Or even worse, the plus one? I'm already so wound up - I'll probably just punch her. You decide who I'm referring to.

Rooted to my seat, I let another fifteen minutes pass before I find myself presented before her apartment, a douse of dread and something angling toward anger helps me pull the handle, letting the door swing open.

I'm almost clenching my eyes shut when I stumble into the apartment because whatever it was I was going to be greeted by was not something I'm going to allow to imprint into my memory.

My breathing slowed and my hearing heightened. I'm in survival mode.

"You know knocking would have been far more preferable."

My eyes pop open and I'm hit with the sight of a totally relaxed Alex ( on her own may I add) lounging on her sofa, book in hand.

My mouth seems to expel a sound that has been obsolete since the Neanderthal era, "Uh." I think it was or something equally dense sounding.

She closes her book. "I was just thinking about you and how I've not seen you naked for over twenty-four hours…your timing is impeccable."

My power of speech and mental capabilities have been absent ever since I stepped into this place, leaving me to communicate only via wild hand gestures and flickers of the eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Alex's expression downshifts from tease to concern.

"You're alone." I blurt, the statement more of a question.

"No."

"No?" My heart drops down a further rung.

"Well you're here so by default that would be a no." She clarifies.

My god the smart-assery in this one. Partly why I adore her so much - even in this senseless situation.

Wit and tease is what bonded us together.

"We were supposed to meet today."

Her face rapidly transforms into one of apologetic understanding. "Shit shit shit." She rounds the sofa and walks up toward me. "Pipes, I'm so sorry, I thought you said Tuesday!"

No indication of being caught in the act, and it made me irrationally angry. "Monday. I specifically said Monday." I respond with a stone-faced expression.

"God, I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Alex must have had a shower, her hair was still wet, dark tendrils of it sticking together, drips of wayward water running down and trailing down her neck and disappearing underneath the v of her tee.

Honestly, the whole aesthetic right now was so not helping me maintain my quest for cold-hearted retribution — I mean I had to physically stop the nerve signals firing from my brain that were instructing my hands to run up to her and stroke her hair.

It was just offensive how illegally beautiful she was in those candid moments - always striking me by surprise. I mean just get the handcuffs already and confine me to prison.

"Care for some coffee?"

I shake my head clear.

My mind was just abominable.

Coffee? Is she being serious? I don't get why she's so guilt-free about this whole thing considering she probably has some awful brunette / blonde-haired lady stowed away.

"Yes, coffee would be nice thanks." I'm going to have start simple. "Where did you go?"

"Platinum."

My mouth dries and I inwardly groan.

Platinum: expensive restaurant, minimal lighting, lots of table for twos. Ideal for an intimate candlelit dinner.

I watch her face. Nothing registered - not even a flicker.

"I thought I'd treat her since she really wanted to see me…I couldn't say no" Alex meets my gaze, poker-faced. "Sugar?"

"Two please."

I have to sit down, "Where is she now?"

"She didn't want to stay the night so I dropped her off back home."

Polly's jokes of open relationships and strange liberal lifestyles hit me against the side of the head - how is this happening to me?

"Milk?"

"Just a splash."

"God Pipes, the food was to die for. We should all go together sometime."

My eyes are about to escape off my face, saucer-sized and full of betrayal. What on earth is she suggesting? Is this some sort of euphemism for a threesome I've never heard of?

The nausea was riling up my insides, I couldn't do this any longer. "Alex, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this whole open-relationship thing. It's my fault I should have been much more clearer at the beginning."

She stops stirring our coffees, "Sorry?"

I wring my hands together, wishing someone could hurl me into the seventh circle of hell, actually change that I'm making an eight circle specially reserved for me. "I know you're way more liberal and adventurous than me but I don't think I'm fine with you going off with other people." I seem to garble this out in long sentence that was barely even comprehensible.

Alex laughs.

I'm not laughing.

This is no laughing matter.

Maybe in with her no boundaries, living in the city lifestyle this kind of thing was okay and perfectly acceptable but it sure wasn't for me.

I'm from Trestbury, Connecticut - a small town where evening curfews existed, where people would clutch their chests if heaven forbid you stepped on their manicured lawns, where families consisted of a man and a woman and their offspring.

The latter, the main reason why I had to leave the place almost immediately after I'd turned eighteen - this was when I realised that crushing on my female English teacher was severely frowned upon and kissing Sarah T behind our swimming pool was definitely not good daughter behaviour.

Alex throws me out of my thoughts.

"Pipes, what the fuck are you talking about? You've lost me there."

"Your date?" I mumble miserably.

Was she going to ask me to spell it out for god's sake? I'm already on the brink of crying - the back of my eyeballs scratching furiously - the rush of emotion catching me by surprise.

"My date? What fucking date?"

Was there an echo in here or was she being purposefully obtuse?

"Your fucking Platinum date."

"My Platin-" Alex cuts herself off before her confused expression turns into more laughter — and I know she's hot and all that but what I wouldn't do to slap that smile off her face, I hadn't realised how disgustingly condescending it could be.

"My Platinum date as you put it…is my fucking mom." Alex clutches her head and shakes it, coming to terms with this giant of a misunderstanding. "Oh god, I can't even begin to imagine..."

Shell-shocked, I manage to mutter, "But Seth said she was in her early thirties."

"Who the fuck is Seth? Don't tell me you've embraced this open relationship thing now too?"

"Seth the cleaner."

Alex leans back against the counter, "Well Seth the cleaner needs to get his eyes tested but I'll be sure to relay to mom she doesn't look a day over thirty…she'll be so fucking pleased with that."

"So no date?" I ask just to clarify the obvious.

She takes a good long look at me, green eyes dropping from my face and travelling across my body, "Pipes, I know I'm stating the obvious but I've got eyes only for you. How you even think otherwise really surprises the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry."

A stupid weight had come to rest in the bottom of my stomach, making me feel slightly off-balance. But then no sooner had Alex closed the gap between us, taking my stupid self into an embrace that I don't think I deserved - did that uncertainty of mine grow two legs and jump out of the nearest window.

"You sure you don't want to double check for any possible women I've got hiding away in here?"

"I already feel like the ground should swallow me up. Rub it in why don't you?"

"Well considering you've caused me so much distress, you can start making it up to me." She says with a touch of tease in her voice.

I'm already unzipping my top and shimmying out of my jeans, "Anything...where do you want me?'

Alex looks slightly taken aback, "Well I was going more for let's order takeout and you can pay kind of making up deal."

"Oh." I pull my jeans back up again, my ears and cheeks taking on a new colour that was yet to be heard of.

My god, what a way to establish some credibility.

"But if that's what you had in mind." She says with a bemused smile, "By all means, carry on."


	8. Chapter 8

The shrill melody of my alarm harshly renders me out of my sleep. Groaning and muttering under my breath, I reluctantly roll over and let out of one of my prize-winning why the fuck did I think three hours of sleep was going to be enough when I decided to watch an impromptu half a season of Dexter sigh. I burrowed further under my covers, the piercing meow of a nearby neighbourhood cat determinedly stopping me from returning into blissed peace.

It's only when I'm halfway through brushing my teeth - my eyes still half-closed and fighting a losing battle with tranquil unconsciousness, do I dumbly realise it's Saturday.

Saturday means no work.

Saturday also means I can go back into bed like I've always been destined to.

But then I'm having to halt my out of sync victory dance because a second more damning realisation hits me.

My breath hitches in my chest, a trickle of sweat rolls down my forehead just as a sort of ballooning feeling drops down my stomach.

Yesterday was June 6th. Today, by way of obvious chronology is...June 7th

Shit fuck shit

In fact let's revise today and call it my worst day of the year.

Even worse than when I accidentally reverse-parked into a cemetery plot and received a curse-filled omen from a religious relative or when I drunkenly declared my love to Ms Engelbert, my very well-endowed Spanish teacher.

And on cue my phone starts incessantly vibrating, shaking the entire nightstand which elicits another groan from me. The screen began flashing every few seconds as new messages started sliding across it.

And now the dreaded messages that pseudo-celebrate my continuing existence on this planet. (UGH):

[Nicks]: Happy bday! You're nearly as old as my gran now!

[Polly]: Happy 35th! Or 34th? Either way you can probably qualify for pensioner discounts now ;) ;)

[Polly] Sorry *31st (I double-checked with your mom)

[Taystee]: Hang on in there, dude. My older sis is in her 40s and already suffers from arthritis. You can borrow her cream if you ever need it. She says it worked wonders.

[Poussey]: Happy birthday, Ol' Chaps.

[Cal] HBD, Pipes x PS: dad's asking when you're going to pay back that $400 you borrowed couple of months (sorry)

[Mom]: Are you married yet?

Kindly and gently lower me into the neatly dug grave that's been custom measured to my size.

UGH

.

.

.

At least Alex didn't know about this sacrilegious day. The only consolation I had on this matter. I'm not even sure where this hatred for this particular day came from. I think it must have happened somewhere between my 26th and 29th year - when I realised I'd passed a quarter of a century and had nothing but taxes and death waiting for me. Anyway, the hatred existed and was here to stay for another half a century at least.

The single worst thing that could now happen was a surprise birthday party.

.

.

.

"Surprise!"

There should be an unwritten rule over the number of candles allowed on birthday cakes, and the thirty something candles now lit on mine proved my point several times over. Taystee's face was just about visible above the small blazing inferno that was rapidly coming my way. There's a split-second where I have genuine concerns over the fire risk it posed when she stumbles slightly and was about an inch away from setting her hair alight and everything else in her surrounding vicinity.

I caught on pretty much straight away when Nicky rang me (she never rang) and awkwardly invited me to a quiet drink at the upmarket bar located just off central Manhattan. How my esteemed friends decided Nicky was the right person for subtlety and stealth was beyond me, but I let myself get dragged up to Indigo, pretending to be unsurprised when she asked me to put more make-up on and insisted I should wear my best dress to the place. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge of being offered the biggest birthday present of all: free and infinite alcohol.

We're all sitting around a VIP reserved table tucked away from the main bar, while I waited for the worst part of the night.

And now came the age-old singsong...this is the part where my beautifully practiced fake-smile appears.

"...Happy birthday to you!"

"Thanks guys." I mutter in the most non-celebratory statement ever.

"Hey, P. I hope you don't mind, but we could only fit thirty on here, there wasn't enough space." Taystee adds apologetically.

Strike a girl when she's down why don't you?

I wave a dismissive hand, "Don't worry, Tay. I knew from age twenty that would be the case each year."

"Blow em out, Chaps!" Poussey enthusiastically exclaims, phone in hand, ready to film. Great now there's going to be photographic evidence of my inability in blowing out raging fires atop a circular block mostly made of icing and artificial preservatives.

"C'mon guys, she's gonna need lungs the size of an elephant to tackle this baby." She winks at me. "Let's give her a hand…after all lung capacity does decrease exponentially when past the age of twenty-five."

"And how old are you, Nichols?" I snapped.

"Old enough to be able to tell you that you still have shy of thirty-one candles to blow out."

With the sparks flying from the candles, if I shuttered one eye a little I could imagine her roasting in the fires of hell.

Steady on, these are you friends.

We hummed past the usual thing of asking birthday girl to make A Speech. After a few insistent nudges of the shoulder, I rambled over some tosh about keeping the 'energy' positive and yes that I can't wait for the next year where I can do this all over again. I then endured nightmare activities like 'truth or dare' and 'never have I ever' - although I had learnt an interesting thing or two about my friends.

"To life!" Nicky exclaims, holding her drink aloft, her face flushed and hair sprouting in all angles I never knew hair could.

"To life!" Everyone echoes back.

At this point I'll drink to anything: my broken table lamp, New York taxis, the stubborn stain on my LBD. Anything really.

"Hey Chapman, I've been meaning to ask where's your rocker girlfriend?"

I turn my head, "We're going to have our own private thing later." I improvise quickly but it's already too late when I realise how wrong that sounds - practically cake handed to Nicky on a platter.

"Oh okay." She winks at me. "I see."

"No not like that." I scramble forwards but wearily sit back down again, there's no point exercising logic with Nicky. "Whatever."

"Just before your liquor downfall…can you tell me whether she has a sister?" Nicky asks in a hopeful voice. "Preferably of the twin variety."

I lick the corner of my glass, and almost apologetically utter, "I don't think, sorry."

Her crestfallen face and puppy-eyes makes me stupidly blurt out, "She has a mother?"

"Seriously?"

Affronted I counter, "Didn't you date that premenopausal librarian once?"

Nicky rolls her eyes, "The operative word being once, Chapman." She shudders, "I knew I should have avoided her when she told me her name was Gladys."

"She had a disability car, Nicks." Poussey snorts, nudging me as she declared this, as though I could give two ounces. "What did you guys even talk about? Compare your life insurance policies or something?"

That got the group howling with laughter even though Poussey's jab was only marginally funny.

Excess drink was known to have saved many a lame joke…alcohol the saviour of all.

Nicky simply shrugged her shoulders, taking a gulp of margarita. "What can I say, I don't discriminate based upon ability."

"Which translates into I was desperately horny and needed to get laid…so settled for the first non XY chromosome containing human who interacted with me." I say smoothly.

"Okay." Nicky puts her hand in front of her. "Enough of the roasting already, I'm already charred beyond recognition, jeez."

"Sorry. It's my hell day." I shrug my shoulders. "Sorry birthday, which means I'm entitled to say anything, seeing as you guys subjected me to this nightmare."

Nicky narrows her eyes at me. "I think someone needs more alcohol."

"And that's the first agreeable thing you've said all night."

It's early evening and I'm satisfyingly buzzed, even allowing myself to relax and take in the ambience - which was mostly Taystee modelling her latest hairdo to a very beleaguered audience and Poussey trying to channel her inner Etta James with surprisingly good vocals I have to say.

While Nicky tried to attract the numerous single women seated at the bar with as much as finesse as me trying to explain to a deaf person that their car insurance was running out.

"Okay guys don't look…okay look now!" Nicky exclaims, yet again pointing out an attractive woman who was just walking by our table, this time an amazon-like brunette with legs that went on for days, "I mean ain't she a tall glass of water?"

"No uh." Taystee shakes her head, already having brushed up on her gay euphemisms. "Definitely not a softball player."

'She's wearing a flannel shirt and is sporting a pixie haircut…if that's not gay, I don't know what is." Nicky retorts.

"Your gaydar needs dialling to the right frequency, dude." Poussey adds.

"Well clearly yours is still in the beta version when you thought that church-going lady was batting for the other team." Nicky throws back as she swipes a glass from the infinite amount of drinks dotted around our table and takes an emphatic gulp. "I've been blowing off sapphic vibes since I was in the womb, baby."

"Ten to bet she ain't." Poussey slaps a ten dollar note down.

"Twenty says she is."

"Deal."

"This conversation is such progress for the LGBT movement."

"Shut it, Chapman. It's this baby here that's in dire need of some movement." Nicky smirks, pointing at her nether regions. Everyone's already groaning and shaking their heads at this TMI declaration.

I think my eyes are going to need leashes to stop them from rolling away. As my mother who by the way is half human, half hair extensions and lies would say: if you haven't got anything nice to say don't say anything at all.

I'm painfully inclined to agree.

.

.

.

Speaking of decorum and being a lady of the highest standing; tonight I've just completed a science experiment looking into just how much alcohol someone can drink until either their liver explodes into smithereens or their body collapses into a heap of regrets and tears.

I'm at neither stage yet thankfully but close enough.

"God…what is this place?" I lamented. "The inside of a volcano? Why is it so hot?"

"That sounds like interesting opening scene of a really badly acted porno." Nicky sarcastically answers.

I think it must have been somewhere past midnight when the sight of birthday things triggered a sudden need to drown my sorrows or that I simply don't have any willpower to make simple adult decisions like don't say yes to drinks offered from five foot one people with forest like hair. (Nicky)

Add to that Poussey won that stupid bet which meant more drinks at the table. And to cut a long story short meant I'm now currently being escorted to my apartment by my lovingly caring friends.

My clothes feel like they're suffocating me from the outside in, the material mercilessly acting like a thermos and reminding me yet again of my world renowned stupidity over and over again.

I'm halfway through trying to clamber out of my dress when Nicky grabs my hands and curtails my impromptu undressing session.

"Okay when I said porno, I didn't mean reenact one now for me, fuck." She pulls my dress back down again, and semi-hoists me to my feet. I've literally turned into a boneless marionette incapable of two-legged walk.

My running mantra runs through: once a lightweight, always a lightweight. "Also try and not get naked before you've reached into your apartment, that's all I ask of you."

"Did I ever tell you, you're a meanie?"

"And now she's turned into a twelve year old. How many drunken alter-egos does this girl have?"

"There's still the ghetto girl from the Bronx and Blair from Gossip Girl imitations left." Poussey provides. "I think we've already gone through thinks she might actually win american idol with her screechy singing voice and scared single girl in an end of the world apocalypse." 

"Seriously?"

"Oh and the stern principal from a private school voice occasionally makes an appearance, but that one only happens between drink three and five, never before and never after. It's some freaky alcohol science"

"Stop talking about like I'm not here." I grumble listlessly.

"We're nearly here. Thank fuck, she's beginning to weigh an actual ton. P can you grab her other arm, mine's about to crack in half."

Offended, I try and sling my hand toward her, my semi-violent tendencies rearing their head again.

"Get off me! You smell like red wine and sexual repression."

"I'm sexually repressed?" I slur, incredulity vying for an indignant urge to correct her of just how many times I've not been sexually repressed.

Nicky presses the elevator button, the doors slide open and we all squeeze inside. We're whizzing upwards causing my stomach to dangerously protest. Thankfully before I expel half a brewery's worth of liquor over all of us, we step outside. Well they step out, I sort of half crawl, half stagger out.

"Keys?"

The hallway is barely lit, I'm struggling in identifying the keys in my purse. "Fuck why is it so dark?"

"That's what generally happens when it's night time." Nicky adds unhelpfully.

"And why is the floor getting closer?" I ask as I watch the floor reach up to me in complete dazed fascination.

"Oh fuck…that's 'cause you're falling. Damn it Chapman." Taystee makes a grab for my torso before I managed to complete my drunken descent to the floor.

Thankfully for the both of us, she catches me in time. "You sure nobody spiked this girl's drink? I swear she drank like a third of what we had?"

"I don't think she actually has a liver. I mean a fourth-grader has more alcohol tolerance than her." Nicky concludes.

"Featherlight she is." Taystee laughs.

"No light. That's way way more accurate."

"No." I jab my fingers at them all in turn "It's because you're all alcoholics."

"Someone get her keys out of her bag."

"I've been told Ford doesn't make house-keys." I giggle into Taystee's hair, which I then smelt and complimented on her shampoo choice.

"Is it this one?" Poussey asks me.

"What this one?"

"Your apartment?" She asks, pointing at the door.

Lifting my head causes my vision to temporarily waver. I shut my eyes to stop them spinning in the well of a thousand tequilas and eventually glance at the door number, "Yeah this one."

Poussey struggles with the keys, pushing it in a few times but failing, "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yeah just keep trying."

A different voice joins in. "I think it might work with these, here let me."

My shoulders jerk upward and I almost jump back, a breathy gasp escaping from my mouth when my brain finally allows me to decipher the person behind the voice.

Alex casually pushes past us, smoothly produces a set of keys and pushes it into the door which by some miracle of science effortlessly opens.

My brain is finding that near impossible to compute, the others' heads whirling between me and Alex, expressions asking for an explanation I genuinely do not have.

"I hate to interrupt your little party gathering here but you're blocking my entrance." She says to no one in particular.

It's Nicky who finally speaks, "Wow, you're doing the whole lesbian U-haul thing now, Chapman? I guess a congrats is in order now." She tilts her head at Alex, "And to you too, obviously."

Alex shakes her head, "This is my apartment. I live here." She turns her head, "Piper, can you tell me why your friends are trying to break into my apartment?"

Sobriety kicks me right in the gut, and miraculously flushes away all traces of alcohol from my bloodstream. My head rears up just as I suddenly gain the ability to walk unaided again, my vision sharpening out with such clarity I'm partially amazed at my near instant recovery.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have misread the numbers forty-three for forty-five." Is all I manage to mutter as I force my eyes upward and catch the sight of Alex in her all Alex glory. She was dressed incongruously; dark grey v-neck and light brown jeans a la Lena Headey chronicling Sarah Connor. My stupidly stupid heart does its usual thing of beating that little harder and faster.

Retreat, need to retreat. It doesn't matter anyway because she has me trapped as usual. Target easily acquired.

She crosses her arms, speaking as though it was just the two of us here, instead of the small entourage of girl-folk / carers that surrounded me at the moment. "Now that we've established where we both live, where was my invitation?"

"It must have got lost in the post."

She chuckles. "I thought you were into the whole hand-delivering thing? That last letter of yours was so delightfully quirky."

I sense Nicky's eyebrows rising by the second, any longer, they'd be joining the nest that was her unruly hair, never to be found again.

"That was just a one-off." I blurt out, my voice high and stupid. Almost half a year later and I'm still acting like that frumpy teenage girl forced to finally talk to her super cool secret crush.

"That's a bummer, considering I've been waiting each night with bated breath for the next one. Unless tonight is the night?"

I have an inkling she may be exaggerating a great deal.

My voice takes on the uncanny impression of a beached dolphin squelching out its final cries for rescue. "What are you doing here?"

"I happen to live here."

"But what are you doing here, now?"

"Trying to get into my apartment but unfortunately unable to do so at this given moment."

"Are we interrupting something here?" Poussey asks hesitantly, vocalising the expressions of everyone here except Alex and I.

The very last impression I wanted to make on Alex was her thinking I'm a borderline alcoholic, this bumping in corridors in an intoxicated state just had to stop.

I'm sober enough to appreciate her presence though. She was giving me a sultry wink with a slight tilt at the lips, and I knew that's what she used to make the panties drop. The joke's on her - little did she know I wasn't wearing any.

"Thank you for your help guys but I'll take it from here." Alex announces.

A second later I feel myself being transferred from my friends' possession into Alex's. God, her arms felt just like home. Not my emotionally cold childhood home, but the metaphorical house portrayed in Hollywood; you know the one full of love and baked cakes. That one but with just a hint of lust.

My stomach suddenly lurches ominously.

Oh fuck.

Don't be sick. Don't be sick.

I couldn't be certain but hurling all over the hallway carpet could possibly jeopardise my already problematic relationship with my landlord not to mention also push up the tally of embarrassing things I've done in my lifetime to about seventy-one (thousand).

Alex though, blissfully unaware of my imminent vomitous calamity helps me into her apartment. I clung to her, nestling into her shoulder, inhaling her smell. It helped with the nausea.

She decided that the best place for my recuperation would be at her's and I didn't mind one bit. I had an interesting ten minutes where I was wrestled out of my sweaty bondage dress and put into comfortable slacks and tee which instantly became my favourite pieces of clothing - partly because they smelt of Alex and were also ideal pieces of clothing for lying into the foetal position.

I stole a few minutes in front of the mirror, fluffing up my hair and examining my teeth for any wayward food particles while Alex poured me a glass of water in the kitchen. I stand back and let out a laugh. Who the fuck was I kidding? I was way past looking presentable - I mean I was on the verge of being mistaken for a particularly weathered homeless person who happened to have scavenged an expensive Chanel bag.

"You look fine." Alex's disputes behind me, her reflection joining my own.

I turn around. "I don't know what your perception of fine is, Alex. I look semi-dead for god's sake."

"Shut up and take this." She pushes a glass of water into my hand. "Now come and sit down.

"It's alright I can manage." I've embarrassed myself enough this evening, the least I can try to do is walk from A to B independently.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little tipsy. All fine and dandy."

But carpet edges apparently are my new enemy now because I haven't even completed a full three steps when my foot catches the edge of the throw carpet.

"Alex, I'm falling!"

"Falling for me?" She enthuses gaily, her back to me, oblivious to what was going to happen. "Yeah I kinda knew that already."

"No actually physically falling!"

I don't even have the capability to properly fall but even worse is that Alex was stood in my direct fall trajectory and I can already envisage the carnage I'm about to cause.

She turns around, an expression of surprise crossing her face, "Oh shit you are!"

No sooner was that concluded, I'm hurtling through the air, slamming heavily against her and knocking her off her feet. My momentum sends us both tumbling to the floor causing us to land in a jumble of tangled limbs and semi-dazed expressions. Alex's glasses are knocked off, a fuck escaping from her mouth, while my head was thankfully cushioned by her torso.

Add to that, the water from my glass had rained all over us, soaking us. "You were saying?" She laughs breathlessly.

Groaning in piteous drunken agony I slowly lift my head, meeting Alex's bemused stare and mutter my heartfelt apologies, "Are you okay? I'm really sorry - that was not the way I expected things to go."

Roses are red. Violets are blue. I'm drunk and stupid, and you know it too. (sigh)

"You really have to stop making a habit of this." Alex remarks, wiping water droplets from my face and tucking a stray wet strand of hair behind my ear. "It's my fault I should have known you have a tendency to become one with floors."

I'm trying to think above the mindless chatter that was my inundated brain but I'm afraid I don't have the capacity to come up with a witty rejoinder. "I guess it's an unfortunate condition I suffer from."

"But my optimism is unfailing...you see I always see the good in everything." Alex begins, rolling over and sort of draping herself over me, bits of carpet fluff decorating her hair, water streaked across her cheeks, "Including just how perfect you look on my floor, in my clothes may I add." She pushes her glasses back on her face, "It seems to triggers something inside me."

"Does it?" I near enough yelp.

She closes her lips over mine, the kiss sweet and teasing all at once. "Oh yes. God bless your two left feet."

"Amen." I close my eyes, letting myself fall into the warmth of those lips, my own blazing to life, the jolt of it leaving me winded and dizzy.

.

.

.

After a joint herculean effort we conclude that carpets although soft and inviting are not the best form of furniture to try out my tolerance for not spewing all over the place.

Alex helps me to the sofa, having renewed my glass of water which had perished in the midst of my fall.

She sat beside me, "So I'm assuming a quiet night in was off the books?"

"You can blame those people." I vaguely point at the door with my glass-holding hand, causing half its contents to slosh out. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"Special occasion?"

"It's June 7th."

"Come again?" She asks confusedly.

"My birthday."

She raises her eyebrows, "Why does it sound like you've just been told what your funeral date is going to be?"

"Aversion to birthdays, I guess."

Alex exhaled a laugh, and I smiled a little, not wanting to but not able to help it.

"Oh and thanks for taking me into your refuge, you didn't have to do that."

She squeezed my thigh, motioning me closer, "Considering I've become a somewhat of an expert in man-handling your drunken ass I thought I'd be the best person for the job."

"It's all a bit deja vu, isn't it?" I sheepishly ask.

"How so?"

"All that's missing is a bag of trash and this is like a replay of our first proper encounter."

"Wouldn't you have it, we've actually come full circle."

"Minus your trespassing and acting like such a pain in the ass, we really have come full circle."

Alex wraps her arms around my shoulder, "I'm going to let that one slide since you're drunk and probably won't remember most of this by tomorrow morning."

An overwhelming exhaustion suddenly bears over me, causing me to nearly fold in on myself, I'm half-draped over Alex's legs, savouring the softness of her sweats, "God you're so soft and warm. But mostly warm...and soft." I murmur into the fabric, my eyes closed, "It's like I'm living inside a giant marshmallow."

Her fingers rake through my hair, all soft and fond, "Just how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Enough to sustain a small Mexican village."

"That much huh?"

"More than enough to make me forget I'm nearly old enough to be sold as a piece of antique" I wail, my voice about forty decibels too low for normal conversation, "Jesus, you smell so good as well."

My awfully handsy hands reach, the fingertips barely grazing against the side of Alex's thigh - far too close to the inner aspect of it.

"I think your hand is in the wrong place."

"Is it?" I sigh dramatically.

"Positive."

"Well pardon mmeeeeeee..I hadn't realised some parts of your body had restricted access."

"I'm afraid tonight there are many."

"I promise I've got ID and I've got thirty one burnt candles to prove my age as well. Does that allow me through?"

Alex laughs and places my hands back to me again, "I really think it's time for you to reunite with a bed again."

"No." I murmur childishly, "I like it here."

"Pipes, you'll kick yourself tomorrow when you wake up with a ton of regret and a giant headache." Alex says with a concerned voice.

I'm defiantly staving off sleep, because I hadn't realised - but the exact feeling of Alex's hands stroking my face was something I apparently needed my entire life. There was something so intensely tender about unthinking touches, that made me not want to lose any contact with her ever. 

"Never been more sure in my whole entire life." I say as consciousness begins to leave me through a liquor filled haze. "Also very sure that you're the best person I know - mainly because you have a beanbag in your apartment and you know how comfortable beanbags are which makes you the best person I know."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah.' I mumble under my breath, "And I don't think I ever told you but when I came to your door that first ever time, I secretly hoped you'd kiss me because you just looked so kissable, y'know?"

I craned my head at Alex but only managed to lift it by about an inch and immediately gave up, my head slumping back onto her lap.

"So I was right all along." Alex chuckled.

"Maybe."

We fall into a silent void, the darkness and quiet a welcome relief from the loud bass and disco lights I had to live through at the bar. That now seemed light years away.

I grab onto my only lucid thought, "Alex?'

"Mmm?"

"I have told you you're nice, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I just wanted to say it again just in case I hadn't."

"That's real thoughtful of you."

"And thanks for the clothes."

"Not a problem, kid."

"I haven't ruined your night, have I?"

"Not at all."

"Sorry anyway. Hope your carpet is alright as well."

"Pipes, go to sleep."

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"Just keep being nice, 'kay?"

I can feel darkness tugging at me, beckoning me toward comfortable oblivion, the pull of it so impossible to resist.

At this point Alex whispers something — something that would have made my heart hitch and my mouth to go dry had I been stone-cold sober. But I'm drunk and slightly delirious and on the brink of a full blackout so I must have misheard / imagined / conjured it up.

After all four letter words with "I" in front and "you" after, are the stuff of dreams and I'm obviously dreaming.

Of course.

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.

.

 

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.

.

"Look up."

We were nestled together on the sofa at Alex's, still in our pyjamas watching random weekend movies on the cable. It was one of those lazy mornings where we both by some miracle didn't have any work to do or had any imminent plans for the day ahead. It was lovely.

"If it's that again..." I sighed already knowing what was coming. My lips are pursed but a smile was already waiting to burst out. "Alex you honestly need to stop this now."

She'd been dangling that goddamn misletoe over my head more times than I could ever count. And Christmas was still about five months away.

"You haven't even looked up. I could be alerting you to a giant ass spider on the ceiling."

"Seriously?"

"But what if said spider is now weaving its web right over your head?" She smiles a smile that told me she'd won me over.

Sighing I look up, "Okay this is literally the last time." I say for possibly the dozenth time over the course of this last week. This girl was just ridiculous.

But Alex is already punctuating my perfunctory plea with a kiss before I could say anything else on the matter which to be fair was a good thing.

Once again the universal law of Alex kissing me dictated that no kiss should ever last less than two minutes.

"One more." Alex teases

I'm raising my eyebrows in mock solemnity.

"Please?" She grins, cocking her head in an exaggerated school girl pose, "I mean look at my heart eyes."

That won the deal.

I'm not even going to bother arguing, and roll my eyes instead, already feeling an endearing smile cross my cheeks.

When did I become such a fluffy sop? Careful these are the starter signs of established couples who jointly complain about the quality of their local grocery's cheese and finish off each other's sentences.

"You're the single most-"

"Hottest person you know?" Alex finishes.

Slight correction, we may already be there.

"I was actually going to say you're the single most persistent person I know and you may also be that other thing."

She sits back, stretching her back, "You can say it you know."

"I would...but I'm just concerned you'll break your back if your ego grows any more. Surely it must be weighing a ton or so by now?

"A little extra can't hurt."

"But you've reached critical levels. It's really starting to worry me."

"I appreciate the immense concern for my back but..." I stop her there and arch forwards brushing my lips against hers but now Alex is totally just laughing into the kiss so that it wasn't even a kiss anymore, but more a collision of teeth and noses

"Happy?"

"C'mon that wasn't even a proper one."

I'm sideyeing the TV, "Al, we're actually missing the best part of the film."

She scoffs, "Like we've not seen a hundred times before, actually it's more accurate to say that you've seen this a hundred times, I've just been forced to watch with you."

"So that dreamy look you get every time Rachel Weisz waltzes onto the screen is someone who doesn't like what they're watching?"

Alex tilts her head, "I do not. Also apart from Rachel the rest of the movie is pretty fucking abominable."

"It's won an Oscar."

"Rachel Weisz's Oscar you mean?"

"The real question is are you cheating on me with Rachel Weisz?"

"Am I detecting the barest hint of jealousy?" Alex cockily smirks. "Because it really doesn't suit your face, babes."

I'm going to have to hold that thought because the shrill tone of my phone suddenly disturbs the atmosphere, the noise sounding much more demanding than usual.

"Just leave it."

But it's when the ringing fills the room for a third consecutive time that I force myself to dig it out from beneath the upholstery and press the answer button.

"Hello?" I answered, my irritation so obvious.

"It's been three whole weeks, Chapman."

My mouth freezes in place, my irritation rapidly replaced by a horrible bout of Red-itis (my aversion to all things red: including my actual boss Red)

"Red?" I blurt out. "I mean Boss?"

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"No no, of-."

She cuts me off, clearly already sick of hearing my voice, "My patience dried up about two weeks ago and I'm starting to think whether this whole thing is just one big joke to you or that your blonde brain cells just lack the capability of taking this seriously."

"Of course it does-"

"I didn't say I finished talking." I swear I could hear the gritting of her teeth through the earpiece and it takes actual effort not to hurl my phone across the room like a grenade that's just been set off. "If you even had a gram of respect for me..."

"I have the utmost respect for you-"

I had kilos of it, tons of it!

"You would if you stopped interrupting me."

"Sorry, boss."

Alex looked away from the television and fixed me with a probing gaze, her eyes all narrowed and concerned, and miming 'what's wrong?' to me. I shake my head nonchalantly, like it's no big deal my mafia boss is just terrorising me over the phone...just no big fucking fat deal.

"Haven is sinking and if you even think for a second that I'm going to throw you a life jacket when that happens - well then you don't know me at all."

I rapidly nod into the phone before dumbly realising she can't hear that, "It's not going to sink, boss" I gravel out with some forced enthusiasm.

"Chapman, I'm disappointed." Red continues without giving me the barest hint that she's acknowledged anything that I've said so far, "Really, I am."

Disappointed?

What am I a toddler now? And why did that sound like much more than citing disappointment and more like a firing? By firing I don't mean the getting thrown out of a job thing but more that I'm stood in front of a firing squad. Which seems much more probable in this situation.

I tried and failed to keep my voice as calm, "I'll have it sorted by the end of the week."

"No. Not the end of the week. Not the end of the day. Now." 

"But that's too-"

Except the line had gone dead, nothing but the belligerent dialling tone galling my ears. Open-mouthed I dumbly stare at the phone, the screen stubbornly dark.

"You okay?" Alex looks at me, eyes bewildered.

Still staring at my phone, I automatically mutter, "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

I tried to make my voice go all casual but I failed at the 'be'.

"Because you look like you're about to throw up and I unfortunately I know what your throwing up face looks like."

The accuracy of that was too painful - almost as painful as Red's voice still grinding in my ears.

"It's just work." I mumble, throwing a dismissive hand. "You know how it is."

"Sounded more than just a minor thing to me."

Hesitation strikes me down.

Realising this might be my best opportunity to broach the subject again, I grab hold of Alex's sympathy and force myself to take the chance now. "Alex..." I fight the urge telling me to back down but with each passing moment it starts making more sense in my head. "Remember that Haven situation from a couple of weeks back?"

And just like that her body language changes. "When I caught you prying through my laptop you mean?"

"I ummm..." I looked at the clock: today still had six hours left. Six hours. I could tell her in six hours and it'd still be today, it didn't have to be now now.

"Piper, I know I over-reacted that day but that still doesn't change the fact you were snooping through Excelsiors business accounts because your so called boss asked you to."

"It wasn't like that..." I start. "Alex, you know it was not like that at all."

I can feel Alex pulling away. There was a small but perceptible gap between us now, and I suddenly felt really sick. I was ruining it. I shouldn't have said anything, I shouldn't have even answered the fucking phone.

Her face relaxes, "Anyway, let's leave that in the past, what's she saying now?"

"That I should ask you again."

"Okay..." Alex ponders over that for a minute. "And what do you get out of this?"

"The prospect of keeping my job and if I do, possibly be made partner."

"Right, hang on fire." She walks to the lounge and grabs her laptop before returning, "What's Haven's projected gross profit this financial year?"

"Alex-"

She shoots me a look, "Piper, I'm only doing this because it benefits you and for you only. And even more so to get your boss off your back and leave you in peace. So let me calculate this out and work something for you, yeah?"

I capture her eyes, communicating a silent thank you. "Okay."

"Okay, so Haven's estimated quarterly profits after tax and not accounting for any overheads or operating costs?"

"You do realise that the person you're asking is someone who until recently found out the difference between gross and net profit?" I tease, my voice cusped on the verge of crying. "Ask me about 17th century English or the history of the Smithsonian museum, then I'm your girl."

I'm just relieved, okay?

Partly because I now no longer have to jump and hide in painfully small closets or squeeze myself into the narrow space between Haven's industrialised ovens whenever Red decided to make an appearance.

"Okay, okay." Alex declares. "Tell you what; bring the blueprint of the restaurant's monthly balance sheets to my office next week and we'll go over the finances and account stuff then, and hopefully I'll have drafted something by the end of the following week. Deal?"

"Deal."

.

.

.

I'm stood in front a giant revolving sign engraved with Excelsior that was perched on top of a large marble pillar - and it's when I have to walk at least another quarter of a mile before I reached its entrance - do I realise this place was humongous. I have to arch my neck almost ninety degrees to even catch a glimpse at the top of the building.

Stepping into the large foyer I have to hold in another gasp; the place was floor to ceiling glass galore, fitted with elaborate chandeliers that appeared as though they were suspended freely, the marble floors so shiny I couldn't avoid my own washed out reflection.

I blithely realise I'm severely undressed and also underpaid by the looks of things. The sentiment must also have been echoed by the burly security man stood beside the doors who was narrowing his eyes at me with barely concealed suspicion.

I'm almost inclined to check my clothes: do I have the words not from here emblazoned across it or something? And more to the point what's with the over top James Bond-esque security around the place?

Humans in sharp suits clutching sharp shaped satchels with equally sharp cheekbones rushed around me in a scurry. An unyielding tide of them streamed past me, not one person bearing eye contact with me. I'm in some sort of industrialised version of Twilight Zone.

Finally, I reach the main reception desk manned by more angular robotic types with piercing gazes and jabbering away in corporate speak. Maybe it's the fifty foot marble pillars that adorned the place, or maybe it's the reflection of a million Rolex watches blinding my eyes or simply the fact that my jean wearing self seemed as out of place as a lamb thrown into a lion enclosure. Regardless, I'm feeling way out of my depth and debate whether to text Alex and tell her to meet me instead of the other way round.

"What can I do for you?"

My head swivels up - meeting a woman stood behind the desk already showing signs of impatience.

"I'm here to see Alex Vause...sorry Atwood."

"Name?" She barked.

"Piper Chapman."

"ID?"

I let out a semi-nervous laugh, "I feel like I'm entering a CIA facility, next you're going to ask me whether I have a gun or something."

Okay, not the most wise choice of humour in these parts.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you have any items in your possession that could be considered weapons or have the capability to be weaponised?" She asks in a shrill voice, completely ignoring my earlier question.

She's probably milliseconds away from pressing some silent alarm underneath the desk that would send in an army of SWAT personnel and half of New York's police department, so I quickly correct her, "I was just kidding."

Plus the only thing of any threat to human life in my bag is the three year old mascara I've been meaning to throw out for eons.

"We'll put your bag through X-RAY just to confirm your answers." She says with a mistrustful lilt in her voice.

Where is this American liberty thing everyone keeps talking about?

"ID?"

I fish out my license and hand it to her. She flicks it open aggressively, like it had just spat in her face and told her she smelt like a dying fish.

"Very well. Please sit down while I verify your credentials."

I was too highly strung to make a joke and say something like, "You sound like something from the Matrix ha ha ha."

Instead I sit down as instructed, and wait.

"You must be Piper Chapman?"

It hadn't even been a minute when a different lady addresses me and beckons me to come with her. "Yes."

"Come follow me."

She already starts walking away, high heels clacking against the marble. We travel through long corridors, climb a few stairs before eventually coming to an open spaced area dotted with several elevators.

She smiles at me - the kind of smile that was corporate - you know close lipped and generic with a dash of I'm better than you.

"How was your journey?'

"Fine thanks."

At least she's nicer than Mrs bulldog chewing a wasp face.

Stepping into the elevator she pushes a button and up we went, whizzing past countless floors taking us higher and higher. It's a minute later when we step out and reach an identically clad out area, this time with a large desk where an equally stern looking woman sat. "You must be Piper. How nice to meet you, I've heard great things about you."

My internal smile is going to wreak havoc with my insides.

I don't know what Alex has been saying about me or what descriptors she's used but whatever it was, it had people going out of their way to help me and present me their best smiles - albeit a bit on the fake side. I walk a little straighter, head held high and damn pleased at my new found micro-fame.

"You can go through to her."

She beckons me toward an oak door engraved with Alex's name and pushes it open for me.

—

I push the door fully open, greeted by a giant office with possibly the largest desk I've ever seen. I mean it was so big it looked like a goddamn podium stationed in a theatre hall. Full plays could be conducted right on it.

My eyes like what they're seeing.

The office space itself seemed very Alex: dark and sophisticated, and laced with hidden sexuality. The deep coloured walls complimented the monochrome theme of the furniture and the various interspersed abstract paintings added dimension.

"I'm getting sudden boss/secretary role-play vibes here." Alex chuckles, lifting her feet off the desk when she catches sight of me, hastily pushing the cigarette she was smoking into the ashtray before her.

I'm not going to give in that easily, even though that familiar instant happiness was threatening to overwhelm me. "Is that how you see our relationship? On such uneven grounds?" I challenge semi-insulted. "Unless I'm the boss and you're the secretary in this instance, because-"

A knowing chuckle cuts the narrative short, "You can be whatever you want, Pipes…as long as it involves me and you."

I'm such a louse at remaining indignant, and already find myself giving in so easily to her annoyingly workable charms.

I step further in, my eye catching a towering figure to my right. It was an interesting porcelain statue of a very anatomically detailed woman, perched atop a bronze weight.

Alex follows my gaze and smirked, "It's a substitute."

"Sorry?"

"It's until I can 3D print your body. It's all a work in progress."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"I have photographic memory remember?" Alex closes her laptop and stacks a sheaf of paper together before filing them away. "I've already imprinted every inch of your body, right here." She points at her temple. "Like for instance; how you have this cute mole just under your right breast."

Alex grins at my defiantly affronted expression, and without breaking a sweat, strolls toward me, giving me a fleeting second to admire her form-fitting jeans and tee. A welcome relief of attire after having to wade through ironed shirts and tailored suits. I liked how she didn't care to conform to the overall clinical atmosphere of the place

Plus Alex always looked so good and ready to pillage me senseless.

I'm still glued to the door, fighting the sudden urge to confirm my mole's alleged location.

"I could show it to you if you like?"

I tried to ignore the suggestive inflection to her voice and the way her finger, with its dark varnish, had reached out and tapped me at the word "show" and was now slowly trailing its way down my chest.

"No thanks."

"And how sure are you?"

"So very truly sure."

My back is scraping against the door, and I think with any more I'm close to causing a hole shaped me to be punched through it.

I wanted to inform Alex that although the idea was incredibly appealing and would sure lead onto other things that I would very much like - the appropriateness of that would also be a spectacularly bad idea.

My heart duly moved down, flitting erratically as she slid her hands around my waist, gently pushing me back against the door and taking my mouth into a fully-fledged kiss, undeterred by our surroundings.

"In all seriousness though." She whispers in my ear. "How do you manage to look even better than the last time I saw you?"

I'm blushing furiously, my cheeks already reaching their melting point, "Because the last time you properly saw me was when I was dodging mutant beetles and had bits of forest in my hair. Not my greatest look."

Alex chuckles, stroking my face affectionately, " I don't know about you but I liked the au naturel look, very authentic, twigs in hair and all."

"Minus the mutant beetles of course.

"I thought they added a certain nuance to the whole look, don't you think?"

"Now you're just speaking out of your ass." I grabbed her face and plunged my mouth against hers, I'd been growing impatient from all the talking that was going on. For the love of God, I hadn't seen Alex since our nature escapades which had been a whole forty-eight hours ago. I'm already getting frustrated from the minute of non-contact, more so than that person who'd trekked miles of desert and still hadn't discovered that elusive fountain of water.

She's read my mind, because the onslaught is turned right up; she prises my mouth open, sliding her tongue inside of me, slow and sure. I'm tasting mint, cigarettes and heat and that familiar yet adrenaline releasing promise of what was to come, and would make me come.

A sliver of sense manages to make its way into my chaos of a brain, reminding me I've come here for purely platonic reasons, something I've conveniently forgotten the instance I stepped into her lair nay office.

Clearly, I had to be the sense for the both of us since Alex made no signs of backing off, and my feeble efforts proved to be of no match.

"I think we should…"

A kiss there.

"If I could just reach my bag and show you the papers…"

A hand here. Precarious.

"It'll only take a few hours…"

A moan there.

"Let's give the papers a rest for a few minutes, what do you think?" Alex says with a calm voice, her index fingers tracing my mouth, looking at me with eyes that yielded the power to make me forget my own name and scream hers out.

It's all I can do but meekly nod, trying to ignore the flames that licked at my lips, brought to the fore by just that little touch.

Hands are freely roaming, mouths are throbbing, and centres are praying for more, more more.

"Did you get here alright?" Alex asks momentarily disrupting my journey to sex-filled nirvana.

"Mmmhmm." I say with barely clenched teeth, ready to throw myself back into the heat.

"Wasn't too difficult?"

My eyes break open, "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Honestly, you've got to stop talking."

"Right."

"For the record no it wasn't alright…I had to make acquaintances with your many receptionists who I'm now beginning to think are just holograms or just people without souls, and don't even get me started on the futuristic Star Trek decor this place has going on, I mean at one point I thought I'd been transported to a dystopian world filled with suit-wearing robots. It was really stressful."

"That must have been really hard" Alex's voice was dark and dangerous, a lilt in her voice tautening the net of intimacy, "I can only apologise for inflicting so much distress."

I feign offence at her non-sincerity but that's quickly abandoned when I feel her lips make contact with me, which was what I really wanted. They were touching that specifically erogenous region just beneath my neck sending me into a cataclysm of electrical activity. "It really was." I muttered merrily. "I even had to catch a train to get here."

"Did you now?"

"So many stops and platforms."

"So so many."

"And the heat, ergh."

"The tragedy."

"Come to think of it, have you ever been on a train?" I tilt my head back — Alex's face a picture of amusement at my question.

"What and mix with all the common folk? I'm on perfectly good terms with John my chauffeur who's doing well at keeping the riffraff of New York away from me."

"The arrogance is simply astounding."

"Tell you what." Hot warm breath coasted over my jaw, intermixed with languid kisses that made my legs turn into soup and my eyes cross. She liked to invade me, entirely and without apology, "I'll catch the train back with you, how about that?"

She can do what she likes.

Because incidentally we're on the train already, same carriage in fact and wouldn't you have it…we both have tickets for destination rip my clothes off and just take me already.

"What do you say?"

"Well you better hurry up because the last train's in an hour."

"Well we better get started then."

"The paperwork?" I arch my head back, giving her slightly more space to destroy me. My actions at complete odds with my epically half-hearted suggestion.

"I'm sure that can wait until another time."

A dark laugh against my lips and I knew I was done for.

I asked.

and I got.

I'll have to conclude and say public transport sometimes does have its specific benefits.

.

.

.

 

.

.

.

"We're so going to be like those old couples who call out young people under their breaths"

The reflexive comment lingers in the air for several seconds, quietening the night sounds ever further. Neither of us speaks, but it's Alex who shifts uncomfortably, her hands changing position every few seconds.

I can't help but inwardly smile, because it's so inexplicably comforting to know Alex too has her own inhibitions and insecurities.

Alex decided that I'm missing out on a great deal by not witnessing the 'spectacular sunset' of Manhattan in late summer, and truth be told she hadn't disappointed me when we ambled through Derwent Park - one of the lesser known green spots in New York but arguably boasted better views and - had like she said wowed me with a truly breathtaking sunset.

Like I've concluded before I've been living under a rock before I met Alex.

"Speaking of old age." I counter trying to diffuse the sudden change in mood. "I can almost guarantee we'll eventually develop a joint love for soup and all things pureed."

Alex chuckles, "Is this before or after we attend our three-yearly colonoscopies?"

"I think it's just after our dental appointments when we've had our top of the range dentures fitted."

"You're going to be the one with dentures."

"And you're going to be that one old person who has to let everybody know they used to ride a bike - dangerously may I add."

Alex scoffs and gently swats me on the shoulder, "Who says I'll have stopped riding?"

"Then we'll have to clear the streets and evacuate any pedestrians who are in the immediate vicinity."

"Ageist."

"And no I'm not going to ride pillion with you either."

"Wasn't going to ask you anyway 'cause you'll be too busy tending to your arthritic knees, babes."

We both look at each other and burst into a gale of laughter.

I tossed out a prayer that we'll someday both be living our content, lesbian lives, preferably in a quaint little country-side cottage that overlooked the Atlantic.

We strolled through the park, the gentle breeze of mellow summer warmth whipping through our hair and clothes. The sounds of city life slowly dissipating away the further we went, the eventual silence a welcome presence. The park opened up into a large open space, trees surrounding us, their branches gently swaying - the threads of orange sundown light now and then flickering through.

A worn path lined with neatly placed boulders led us past small meandering creeks, patches of vibrant grassland that glittered in the dusk light, before it eventually sloped downwards and revealed to us the lake that had lain hidden just beyond a group of pine trees. It truly did look breathtaking, a body of water so still it almost appeared as though it was glowing.

"Wow, it's beautiful." I exclaim, stating the obvious.

"Isn't it?" Alex beamed. "Not many people know of this place."

She points at a narrow footpath circling the lake that wound up slightly uphill until it disappeared into the fading dusk light. "Wait until we got to the other side of it - it get's even better trust me."

There's more?

After a rather arduous ten minute walk, we emerged into a cavern like opening; the sheer enormity of the lake suddenly revealed to us. Mountainous cliff sides rose up from its surface, their rocky surface glinting in the moonlight from the thousands upon thousands of minerals embedded in it. The speckling effect looked as though the walls were alive. I've never seen anything like it. My brain went on pause, it required all the mental space to commit something so surreal to memory.

"Amazing, huh?"

I turned away from the view, "Are you sure we're not in some sort of fairyland or something?" I whispered, not wanting to disrupt the serenity and slightly overwhelmed.

"You can call it whatever you want."

Fairy worlds didn't exist. There was no such thing as magic, just Alex, just really really lovely Alex who had taken me on an adventure of our own making and brought me to places I could only dream of. I just wanted to kiss her...so badly that I almost couldn't stand. I couldn't stop looking at her. The manner in which her face was beaming, so happy that I was happy.

Her hand reaches out and grabs mine, taking me under the canopy of a large pine tree, the moonlight swallowed whole, throwing us into complete darkness. Hands suddenly grab my waist and push me against the bark of the tree.

"Timing, location and company could not be more perfect in this present time." She murmurs into my neck, causing all sorts of things to become ignited.

I don't trust my own voice, so settle for a barely there nod.

"Me too." She says.

"Me too, what"

"I want to kiss you as well."

Grateful for the dark, half-blushing, I mutter, "I was not thinking that at all."

"I think we can remedy that thought fairly quickly." Alex whispers, catching my lips with teasing bites, gently pushing me back, the sound of rustling leaves above us not able to drown out my hammering heartbeat.

"You are now." She slides her hands under my top and runs her fingers over the valley of my spine. "And let's face it you were before."

"I wanted...nothing...of the sorts." I half-heartedly murmured between kisses. Her hair is tickling my nose, and I fight to keep my hands to myself but that only lasts for about a second as I feel them lifting and run them through her hair, desperate to grab hold of any part of her.

"Of course." She chuckled into my neck, feeling her smile imprinted into my skin,seeing right through me. Alex bends down to kiss the hollow of my neck. I have no real choice but to incline my head toward her. Nature, heat and want, ran straight up my nose and invaded my brain, causing everything to become slightly fuzzy.

 

"Hang on." Alex says.

She returns a few seconds later clutching a pebble and holds it aloft, "I feel like we need to make this night a permanent reminder."

"How so?"

"By becoming soppy and cringeworthy of course."

"Sounds right up my street."

"I'm glad." She walks up to the large pine tree my back had been grinding against not ten minutes ago, and starts carving into it.

"Really?" When I realise what she's planning on. "How old are we?"

"Young enough to not be that very old."

"Smart-ass." I lean over her shoulders, watching the carvery work slowly take shape.

"Ta-da!"

Alex tilts her head back inspecting her piece of work before beckoning me to have a look as well:

PC + AV

"What would people think of that? " I ask chuckling as I read it. "It doesn't exactly reflect the strict exec motif you've got going on."

"And that's why this stays between you and me."

"Scared people will think you're not the terrifying woman boss they all think you are?"

"You saw right through the act, huh?" She asks, a smile breaking out. "Think I have to work harder."

"No you moron, the second you made me breakfast in bed I knew you were an old romantic at heart."

"It's a good job I don't make breakfast in bed for my employees then, now that definitely would turn a few heads." Alex chuckled.

Beneath the tease, I'm struggling with the avalanche of emotions roiling inside me — I've never believed in all that mystic nonsense of pheromones and aphrodisiac concoctions supposedly attracting people to each other.

But nothing.

Absolutely nothing beats the feeling of momentary happiness I'm hit by when Alex pulls me into her side, snuggling me to her and gently links our fingers together. Unchecked tenderness courses through me, the enormity and strength of the sudden swill in emotion startling me.

"Also for the record this really does stay between us."

 

We eventually sat on a small bench overlooking the lake ringed by dense woodland and manicured shrubbery. The usual activity of families and joggers had disappeared for the evening - leaving the place empty and silent. The faint silvery rays of the moon drifted over the surface of the lake, the last remnants of sun orange fading away as twilight slowly set in.

My gaze drifted to the lake - a gentle breeze brushed against the water's surface, the ripples unsettling the stillness of the surface, "Alex where are we?"

She glances at me, her face obscured by the shadows of overlying branches, "I would guess we're on planet earth but if you want me to more specific: we're in Derwent park currently sat on a bench."

"You know what I mean."

"Pipes, we're here in the moment and hopefully enjoying each other's company."

And I was but there was something that kept nagging at me.

"It's just that I was thinking of what you said about people just clicking and what's the point of dancing around each other ."

I could feel my guts tying themselves up into knots. The horribly tight shoelace kind of knots that are always so impossible to undo. I've had this strange feeling of late. That this thing Alex and I had was somehow temporary, had an expiry date stamped on it, the date looming closer and closer the longer we'd been together. There was no rhyme or reason to it but that cold feeling of foreboding had reared its head more times than I cared to readily admit. I tried to bury it until it was eight foot under but apparently that wasn't deep enough.

"What's your point?"

I trip over my words, "I've just never had a good track record with long term relationships, never really getting to know the person properly, and I guess I've always thought the problem lay with me when they eventually left " A nervous laugh escapes me, "That sounded much less pathetic in my head."

Alex tilted her head, a question on her face, "Pipes, are you saying you're not ready for this?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then what? What's the problem?"

That's exactly it. What is the problem? I'm happy. More than happy. So happy my smiles had the potential to break apart my face.

I've always been taught happiness existed only in limited quantities and that there just wasn't enough to go round for everyone in the world. So be frugal with it, use it only sparingly to avoid eventual disappointment and heartbreak.

When things are too good to be true, question it or if you can't just abandon it my forever pessimistic mother would insistently preach.

I stood up just for wanting to occupy myself with something.

Alex stood up too.

I shake my head. Christ, I've got a super hot person here wanting to make me happy (successfully doing so), taking me on forest walks, laughs at my shockingly bad jokes voluntarily, and offers me foot massages amongst a thousand other things. What is wrong with me?

We watched the ripples gently eddying toward the edge of the lake until Alex broke the silence, clasping her hand around mine, "I'm not going to force you into anything, Piper. I'm more than happy waiting for you to feel ready and if that's going to take a thousand years, so be it because I'll always be here waiting."

Trust Alex to completely turn my thoughts on their head in a matter of seconds and then some. She really did deserve an A+.

"But then I'll be old and gross." I murmur softly.

"Well then we'll be old and gross together." She says emphatically.

"Her words provoke a rush of emotion, "Alex, do you really mean that?"

"Truth?"

"Hmmm."

"I did want to run away from you ever since I found out you love watching Desperate Housewives because I'm not sure I have a tolerance that stretches so far." Her lips bear the semblance of a smile. "But you do make a mean pasta melt so I guess I have no choice but to stick around."

"I'm in a vulnerable place right now, you know." I say jokily, leaning into her and slipping my hands underneath her arm.

She licked her lips, "As much as you try, you do know you can't escape from me that easily."

Alex says it so genuinely - I don't really have an adequate response.

"Look Piper." Alex finds my hand in the dark and grabs hold of it. "I've never really held any serious relationships. I've always had this personal thing of there's no such thing as the right person or the possibility of meeting someone who can sweep you off your feet so what's the point of opening your heart up or turning it serious when it's all set to fail anyway? And this thing with your previous relationships failing, well this one's different by simply not being one of your previous relationships."

She lifts her gaze to look at me, all vigorous and wholehearted.

I'm feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, it's the temperature, way way too high, and god there's just not enough oxygen in this place, what on earth.

Alex leans forward, her breath tickling my nose. "But I have come to find out that all this is with the exception of a certain neighbour who has an over the top aversion to abandoned trash piles and is also the owner of some devastatingly sexy lingerie." She says teasingly with a voice that could melt, well anything.

My brain was most certainly amongst meltable things, seeing as I felt it oozing out of my ears, rendering me senseless, speechless and/or in a state of complete infatuation. I swear this woman's an expert on keeping my heart beating, because without her I'm sure it would simply stop.

Alex's face turns earnest, "And you know what? In all seriousness I don't think I could leave even if I wanted to."

"Why not?"

I felt her hesitate in the dark. Slivers of moonlight filtered through the branches casting us both under a zigzag of light. And you know what? Of all the things I was expecting her to say this was so so not it.

"Because I think..." Alex looked away before turning back to me with a small smile, pausing for so long I thought she might not finish. But suddenly the rest comes out in a rush. "...Because I think I'm in love with you."

That robs the speech from me.

That causes my heart to free fall through my body and land somewhere between our feet.

Alex looks as shocked by the words as I am and it takes a minute or two of deep silence for the words to leave the space between us and anchor themselves in my heart.

Even in the dark, I catch her eyes - noticing the darkening of her cheeks, a haze of red working its way up from beneath her top all the way to the tips of her ears. I don't think I've ever witnessed Alex blushing, something that leaves me so unbalanced — and it's her who breaks the silence again.

"Keep a girl under suspense why don't you." Alex exhales in a single breath, eyes glittering in the dark.

I'm smiling when a calm wave of acute understanding traverses through me, tumbling words out that I've never been so sure of saying. "I think I love you too." I whisper back, lifting my gaze to capture hers.

You know those precise moments when everything is exactly the way it was meant to be? When everything has aligned itself so perfectly and you know you couldn't possibly be more happy? I was basking in that moment right now and was fully aware of it.

An inexplicable surge of peace poured through me, flowing into every nook and cranny of my heart. We sat perfectly still, the speckled light of stars hanging above us, the velvety dark sky all of a sudden unbidden and full of possibility.

In the span of ten seconds, a million things occurred. Alex suddenly closed the gap between us, bracketed her hands over my cheeks and placed her lips over mine with such breathtaking precision.

My body is already angled toward her, an invisible magnetic field pulling us flush together — our actions somehow communicating our declarations over and over again.

Babies were born, entire cities built, seniors graduated high school, stock markets crashed, and Alex kissed me.

All in those ten seconds.

And in those ten seconds, I wielded enough power to stop the world on its axis, change the sunrise from east to west, be loved and love back, and gladly kiss her back.


End file.
